


Apparitions

by despondent_mesa



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drug Use, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I am a sinner, Phase Four (Gorillaz), Phase One (Gorillaz), Smut, There are flashbacks, Unhealthy Relationships, also send me to satan i wrote smut for this, ergo that's the majority of this story, i have every chapter planned out so thoroughly, i live for angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10655862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/despondent_mesa/pseuds/despondent_mesa
Summary: His eyes looked at you with hope, and they swallowed you whole. How could you possibly say no?“Yeah, um… Sure.” You gave him a smile, dropping your coffee by the side of your camper, following as he waved you in the direction of the beat.You didn't know much about these people, but you knew the next few weeks were bound to be something you hadn't experienced before.You barely knew just how right you were.-- Angst/slow burn about 2D and my OC, from reader's perspective. ---





	1. New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa it's a story!! I'm absolute 2D trash, so here's my angsty 2D story. 
> 
> I'm hoping that the flashbacks won't be too confusing, so I added dates to hopefully make it easier. The first like fifteen chapters of this thing are half flashbacks. I could have formatted this story differently, but I sure didn't do that. Oh, whale.

**July, 2016**

 

You closed your eyes.  _ Breathe in, breathe out. Don't freak _ . You could have denied him once again, but you didn't. One thing you knew about Murdoc: he was persistent. You were surprised he hadn't kidnapped you to get you there sooner. You knew he respected you. That must have been why he never crossed you. But there you were, finally, in front of a house you'd never seen before but in videos Alayna had forced you to watch.

You checked the address one last time, making sure you got it right. Of course, this was it; it looked disgusting. Murdoc’s handiwork was easy to see.

 

* * *

“Alayna, come on! You know better than this!” You scolded your friend. She threw her head into her hands.

“I know, I know. But you know how it is. Since Bobby left I can't go to the bar without it ending in some fuckin’ hookup.”

You shook your head at her, refusing to show the sympathy you so strongly felt. “Stop going to the bar without me, then! Or somebody to keep you from doing something stupid.” You lean to your knees, throwing both hands to her shoulders in an encouraging fashion. “Get some goddamn control over yourself, babe! Quit drinking or something - I don't know - until you can manage to be happy alone.”

She gave you a deadpanned look. “Don't give me advice you can't follow yourself,  _ babe _ ,” she mocked. You couldn’t give her your hurt expression, as your phone erupted in a loud tone.  _ Saved by the bell. _

You got up to grab it from the kitchen countertop. You squinted to see the number, immediately regretting it. You knew that number, not needing it to be saved in your phone. In fact, you had deleted it years ago in an attempt to forget it. You never answer to numbers you don't recognize, so perhaps you could just ignore him without purposely being rude. Of course, that didn't work, with the number of nights you spent staring at it, wanting to call but never following through. That number was ingrained in your skull.

“Who is it?” asked Alayna, noting your hesitance. You don't bother looking at her, watching the phone light up repeatedly in your loose grip. 

“ _ No _ ,” she said, just above a whisper. You hear her stand and rush over to you, trying to take the phone from your hand. 

“Stop it!” you yelled at her.

“You have to answer!”

“No, I don't!”

Finally, the ringing ceases, and Alayna stares at you incredulously. You put the phone face down on the countertop, sighing, a hand slowly reaching to rub off your oncoming stress-headache. 

“I cannot believe you didn't pick up.”

“Why would I? This happens every year, he’s used to it by now. You should be, too.”

“You can't tell me you don't want to do it again, though.” She stares at you, but your eyes can't meet her gaze. Of course you wanted to. But you couldn't face him. Not after all these years. 

“See? And that's why I can't follow your advice.” She slumped back, matter-of-factly, taking your phone back in her hands.

Suddenly, the ringing started back again. You look up quickly, barely making eye contact with your friend before she runs off through the kitchen and living room, answering the phone before you could stop her.

“Hello?” she answered, feigning innocence, watching you to make sure you keep your distance. 

A wicked smile spreads across her face. 

“Why, yes, it is. You remember me, old friend?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to look at her. You couldn't help yourself as you began pacing the floor, slowly inching towards her.

She lets out a giggle, very unlike herself, but very much like her drunk, hookup-crazed self. You widen your eyes at her, but she barely notices.

“Of course.” She pauses, listening to the other end of her call. She smiles again. “As a matter of fact, she  _ is _ .”

You shook your head widely at her, but she didn't seem to care as she forces the phone into your hands. She nods hurriedly at you, her smile wide and excited as she bounces on her heels.

You stare at the phone in your hand. Reluctantly, you pull it to your ear. You wait before you hear a voice on the other line.

_ “Love?” _

You could practically hear his smug grin. You let out a small sigh, looking at your feet. “Hey, Muds.”

 

* * *

 

 

You find yourself standing at the front door, hand hovering above the doorbell. You close your eyes again. _Breathe in. Finger pushing doorbell_. 

You quickly pull away, your pulse picking up from the nerves. Every moment you stand, the harder it is not to run away back to your car, pretend nothing ever happened. 

Suddenly, you hear the doorknob moving. Of course, they'd never lock the door, the bunch of idiots.

Russel appears in the open doorway, a speechless expression covering his face when he sees you.

It's quiet for a moment before he regains the ability of speech. “Uh, h-hey.”

“Hey, Russ.” You can't help the smile that spreads across your face. He seems to de-tense, smiling back at you. “I've missed you,” you tell him honestly.

“I've missed you, too, dollface.” He pulls you into a tight embrace, and you don't question it, hugging back with a smile at his familiar pet name.

“Well, come in!” he says, ushering you inside. Seems to be just as messy inside as it is on the outs. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You shrug your jacket off, tossing it to him. “Murdoc. For the new album?”

He looks surprised, leading you up some stairs. “Wow. You cracked, huh? Thought his sorry ass couldn't get you here if he came up with some fuckin’ scheme to get you here by force.” He turns to you, questioning. “He didn't threaten you, did he? Cause I swear, I'll beat his scrawny green ass into next-”

“No, no, nothing like that. I'm here by choice. But I appreciate the possible violence in my honor.”

He chuckles at you, plopping down on a couch. A house you're unfamiliar with. You peer up and see more stairs upon stairs, the uneasy feeling reappearing in your stomach. God knows how many twists and turns and rooms this place has. Things you don't want to see could come out of hiding at any moment-.

“He's not home.” Russel’s voice awakening you from your thoughts.

You look back to him, his elbows resting on his knees. You let out a breath, feeling yourself relax a little. Answered the question you were too afraid to ask.

“Look,” he says, seemingly uncomfortable, “I know it's none of my business, and I'd much rather stay out of it. But the kid, he-”

“Ah, ah, ah. Please, don't.”

He gives you a slightly aggravated look. “You're going to see him whether you want to or not, you know.” 

You sigh. And you know. Of course, you know.

You take on the opposite side of the  _ longest couch you've ever seen _ , many feet away from Russel. 

“Maybe. Yeah. I know,” you give in. “I'm here for bigger things, though, right?”

He gives you a knowing look. And he knows you. “You sure that's not why you're here?” 

You roll your eyes, giving him a wave of your hand. He puts his hands up defensively, dropping it.

A figure appears in the archway, green skin unforgettable. You find yourself standing, and he opens his arms to you with his trademark shit-eating grin. 

“Kara! My love! I didn't think you'd show up.”

You accept the embrace, knowing this will be the only time he offers you appropriate affection. “Oh, Murdoc, you were so close to being right.” You pause, pulling back. “It's Kaia, now.” 

He gives a hum in response and takes your hand, twirling you in a circle, looking you up and down. Something like that would have made you severely uncomfortable a couple years ago, but you somewhat missed his unwanted advances. It was who he was as a person, and as much as you hated to admit it, you missed him. 

His eyes rake you. “Looking more beautiful than ever, love.” He gives your hand a kiss. “Perhaps you'll come to Winnebago for further inspection later, hm?”

The charm wears off quickly.

You hear Russ groan to your left. You give him two light slaps on the cheek, giving him a cheeky smile. “Don't make me regret coming here, now, Mudsy.”

“Oh, how I've missed that lovely voice of yours. The album needs you, Kaia!” He turns and waves a hand for you to follow him. You give a look to Russ, who only laughs at you before turning his attention back to his flat screen.

You follow Murdoc up more sets of stairs, silently hoping these visits won't end up lasting as long as they did last time.

 

* * *

 

**April, 2000**

 

“Kara! Come meet the band!” 

You heard Jamie’s voice yell from behind you, almost making you choke on your coffee.

You put your cup down, sighing. One more shitty band and one more shitty video. Being on the production team with Jamie was always an adventure. He takes interest in a band and holds on tight, making the most stressful shoots you've ever experienced. They certainly didn't prepare you for this shit in film school. Though you didn't expect yourself to be making music videos, either. Dreams never turn out the way you want them to.

You focused your attention on the voice calling for you, making your way over to an odd looking group.

“Alright, guys, this is my right-hand woman, Kara.”

You could feel their eyes on you, one man in particular. When you attempted eye contact, you noted that his eyes weren't looking anywhere near yours.  _ Gross _ .

You subconsciously covered your overexposed chest and rued the decision you made to wear a tank top that day. 

“Kara, this is Noodle, the guitarist,” he pointed to a small girl, who furiously waved at you with a smile. “Russel, the drummer,” a much larger man, who gave you his hand to shake, which you happily took with a nod. “And Murdoc, bassist.”

He took your hand and kissed it, a blush crossing your cheeks. 

“Lovely to meet you,” he says, some devilish grin crossing his face. 

You stole your hand back, unable to make eye contact with your face burning. Jamie put a supportive hand on your shoulder, chuckling. “Don't scare her off, Murdoc, you're gonna need her.”

“Later, perhaps, you're right,” he mumbled, and you tried to turn your attention back towards your friend. This was going to be an experience, you were sure of it.

“No singer, then?” You asked, regaining some composure.

You hear a groan coming from the olive skinned man. “Eh, faceache? Fell down the stairs. He should be out soon enough.”

Russel smacks the back side of his head, and he lets out an angry yell.

“Fine, I pushed the dullard. Sue me.”

He storms off, and the other two look at you apologetically, while you give Jamie a look that says, “Who the fuck are these people?”

“Yes, yes. We've got a handful. But these guys are gonna be big, I can feel it.”

“You say that about everyone we make videos for,” you mumble to him.

He gives you only a bright smile in response.

“Ah! Here’s our singer!” he said contentedly, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and showing a hand to you. 

Bright blue hair, black eyes, and far taller than yourself. Odd. Like no one you'd ever seen. Plus the pained and uncomfortable expression on his pale face. 

“2D, this is my right-hand woman, Kara.” 

Always giving the same introduction.

He seems unaffected by your presence, giving you a nod before escaping from under Jamie’s shoulder. 

“2D? That right?” you ask, thrown off by the odd name. Perhaps that fits him, then.

He looks at you uncertainly. “Yeah,” he responds, his face wincing in pain.

“You okay?” you ask, feeling the worry cover your features.

“Kid gets migraines,” answers Russel. “Real bad ones.”

You nod in response. Unsure, you add, “Anything I can do?” 

2D looks at you again, his eyebrows furrowing. Unsure of something, you don't know what. He slowly shakes his head, but reaches his hand out to shake yours. You give him a small smile, feeling genuinely happy he seems to be giving you some kind of chance. Your fingers wrap around his hand lightly, subconsciously scared he might be made of glass. 

When his hand drops from yours, he gives you a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. You had barely noticed the conversation to your left before Jamie once again scared you out of your skin.

“Alright! Let's get this started, people!” he yells. “Get it set for Clint Eastwood!”

You looked back over to where 2D was standing moments ago, but he was gone.

To where, you didn't know. But you were glad to know you'd be seeing him again soon.

  
  
  
  



	2. Here, There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this story is like all I'm doing lately. I have thirty chapters completely planned through, so pray that I actually write through all of them. 
> 
> Also, side note: once your write smut, you never go back.

**July, 2016**

You most definitely underestimated what a painful process this would be. Of course, you had to know; you've done this all before, and far more last minute than the planning that's being managed now. But Murdoc is a specific man. He wants things the way he wants it.

He's telling you schedules in a loose form. He knows when people will be there to record, but he doesn't know how long they'll be staying or when in that stay actual recording will take place. There's also planned trips overseas to the United States, but he doesn't know when those will go down, either. People not willing to fly to London to collaborate, so they would be going to them. He said the chances of you tagging along were unlikely, but he wasn't sure what all they needed you for quite yet. Schedules were nonexistent. It's all about the parties, apparently, and people are actually showing by their own free will this time. You're surprised, but you're most certainly not complaining.

You didn't entirely know what you were expecting. Any chances at not seeing the band member you so dreaded seeing were thrown out the window. You were going to be staying. Well, not staying, though you expected long nights of parties you'd be invited to. That Murdoc would make sure you’d attend.

Weeks upon weeks of recording. But, at least that would be it. Not staying like last time.

“And  _ here’s _ the studio.”

He was giving you the grand tour, of course. He had pride in all of the things he owned, that much was sure.

The recording studio was far larger than the last you graced with your vocals. Boards you had no idea how to work, soundproofed walls colored dark purple, empty beer bottles strewn across the floor. Smells of cigarettes, slightly comforting.

He shuts the door behind him and you give him a raised eyebrow. He doesn't seem predatory, so you give it a chance.

“So, you're needed for backing vocals. No big deal, you can handle it.” He gives you a look. “We are going to have everyone in there at once, working on vocals. So you're gonna see faceache. Work with him. I don't care to hear any bullshit comin’ from either of ya, a’ight?”

You sigh. It's going to be warning after warning for a while, you know. Things were left less than favorable, but you came here by choice. For the album. That was it.

“I'm not bitching. I'm here, aren't I?”

He smirks at you. “You sure are.”

 

* * *

 

**April, 2000**

“Cut!”

An amazing shoot.  _ Beyond _ amazing. And you were so pleasantly surprised with the band. Weird, sure, but you'd seen weirder. You would be surprised with the level of terror you just experienced, but Jamie was known for this kind of shit. Must be why they hired him.

A talented group. You were more than happy to be working with them for the rest of their album.

The production team clapped for them, and you joined in, walking up to Jamie behind his monitor. His son, he liked to call it.

Murdoc made his way up to Jamie and you, the two of them partaking in some handshake.

“Party tonight, my man. Everyone's invited.”

Jamie smiles at him. “Don't get too shitfaced. Another shoot in two days, be ready.”

Murdoc looks you up and down one last time. “As long as she shows, I promise to behave.”

His laughter was freaky as hell, but you just pretended it didn't affect you. You could still feel the heat in your cheeks. People didn't normally pay you any mind, and while your cheeks seemingly enjoyed the extra attention, you thought your expressions were clear that it was unwanted.

You glanced around as Jamie and Murdoc continued their conversation. The Noodle girl was hoisted on Russel’s shoulders, laughing hysterically about something. She was beaming. And she was young. No idea how they found her or vice versa, but she seemed comfortable with the shit they just went through with the shoot. Older in her head than she appeared, perhaps.

A feather light finger tapped your shoulder, and you turned to see a now somewhat familiar face.

“Hey, 2D,” You greeted him with a smile.

He looked shyly at you and turned away quickly, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “You, uh, you got coffee?” His accent is thick and high pitched, completely contrasting from the singing you heard not minutes ago.

“Uh, yeah! Follow me.”

You lead him over to your camper filled with equipment and all of your overnight-stay crap, a side table hidden next to it's door where you kept the biggest thermos you owned, filled with hot coffee. You were very prepared if shoots took longer than expected. No way this particular video would be shot a second time. You couldn't recreate the  _ literal _ magic that just happened.

You opened the lid and poured the thermos’ contents into it, relishing in the smell it produced. You handed him the lid, his cold fingertips brushing yours. You took a long drink, as did he, before you spoke.

“Quite the amazing shoot we managed, huh?”

He seems to relax with the warm liquid in his hands. You noted that it was getting late, darker and chillier by the minute.

“Murdoc n’ Jamie always conspirin’. I dunno how they come up wiff ‘dis stuff.”

“Jamie’s always pulling weird shit. This what you guys usually do?” You watched the crowd of your production team packing everything up into their trucks. Jamie and Murdoc were still seen far to your right, chatting up a storm, though you weren't sure what Jamie could possibly see enjoyable in him. You take another drink from your coffee. Maybe they used to be lovers. Or are currently.

You never asked about Jamie’s personal life. You were friends, yes, you could even say close friends. But he was closed off, as were you. Neither of you pried at the other's life, but contentedly helped whenever a breakdown was on verge. Things you knew of him: he was divorced, had a cat he loved, prided himself in his bachelor pad, was a heavy smoker, and that he swung both ways. You appreciated the friendship. It was judgement free, always supportive.

Plus, you never fought the occasional shag. You were there to comfort each other. However the other needed it.

“Is all new ta me. Neva been in a band before. Muds thinks it's all fate er somefin’.”

You nodded, looking back at ‘Muds’. The two of them were looking at you, so you furrowed your brows back at them. The two of them were laughing as you turned your attention back to the taller man beside you.

“Well, you're a natural,” you told him. He looked bashfully at the coffee in his hands.

You couldn't help your smile. “Really. I mean, your voice is lovely. You sound so… composed, I guess.”

You couldn't entirely tell, but you thought you saw a blush cross his cheeks in the dark lighting.

“No’ so much off-stage, eh?”

You shook your head, meaning to compliment him but apparently failing. “No, no, I’m sorry! That’s not what I meant.”

He laughed a bit, scratching his neck again. “It’s different, I know.”

You laughed lightly back. “A contrast, yes. Not any less lovely, though.”

He looked down to his shoes at that, and your smile only grew. He lifted the cap of your thermos to you, now empty. He mumbled out an awkward “fanks,” and you heard booming start from not too far away. Kong Studios was surrounded by bright lights like some kind of rave, and many of your crew members were gone, most likely inside for the growing party.

“You comin’?” His voice drew your attention back to him, and you screwed your thermos back up, contemplating. He noticed your hesitance, and took a step closer to you. You looked up at him, your pulse racing. Why, you were unsure. Close proximity to an attractive stranger. You have to resist the urge to back up.

“C’mon. Muds throws the wildest parties,” he threw you a crooked smile.

“Not sure if it's necessarily my scene,” you told him truthfully. You drank, yes, but drinking lead to bad decisions and a party only increased the chance of that happening.

Seeing this man in close proximity made your mind race with a handful of randy thoughts, but you decided you were going to try your hardest to keep your head straight tonight.

His eyes looked at you with hope, and they swallowed you whole. How could you possibly say no?

“Yeah, um… Sure.” You gave him a smile, dropping your coffee by the side of your camper, following as he waved you in the direction of the beat.

You didn't know much about these people, but you knew the next few weeks were bound to be something you hadn't experienced before.

You barely knew just how right you were.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting used to writing in second perspective. This story has taken over my life.
> 
> PS every headcanon account on tumblr gives me so much life for this fandom bless up y'all


	3. Window Sill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie pulls over once you’re over to some slightly-abandoned part of the city he wants pictures of. You get out, jumping from the car that’s a foot off the ground, taking a look around. You find your eyes drawn to some graffiti, and know where your first mission is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new album!! my god, is it amazing. high-key giving me extra inspiration for later chapters. 
> 
> i love me some slow character development. also slow romance. 
> 
> also comments. if anybody wants to leave some of dat good shit ayye 
> 
> enjoy!

**July, 2016**

 

You sat at a piano, fumbling around with chords. You do this often at home, but you only have your measly keyboard. The Gorillaz nest held far more instruments than you could ever possibly dream of owning.

So many years ago you remember the empty promise Murdoc left you: a restored Model B Steinway Concert Grand piano from 1890. You had set your sights on it; the most gorgeous thing you'd ever laid eyes on. It was almost a hundred thousand bucks, completely out of any normal person's price range. Murdoc claimed he could swing it, using that cocky overcompensation to make you swoon for him. Of course, that would never happen, and as time passed, he realized it.

He still crossed his pinky with yours, months after the initial promise. He would get it for you. Even if he had to actually  _ save  _ his money in order to do it. You, of course, simply appreciated the thought.

They have two full pianos, one grand and one stand straight - not to mention the tons of keyboards - and you named your favorite grand Louisa. You would never tell anyone else that, though, or they would never let you live it down. Especially this band.

Louisa stands sturdy in front of you, and your hands dancing randomly over its keys. You missed this. Feeling at home here. Some place that welcomes your talents with open arms and only expands them further. Places you never thought you'd go, you'd most certainly meet while with these weirdos.

You're fonder of them than they probably know. Than you care to admit.

Suddenly, you hear an excited squeal from behind you, and you snap your head in the direction it came from, seeing nothing but the one-and-only Noodle. Tall, gorgeous, completely unrecognizable. You can’t help the huge, pride-filled smile that forms across your face, immediately getting up to meet her in a tight embrace. She’s laughing in your ear, shaking you back and forth, yelling things in Japanese. Well, some things never change.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she exclaims. “When Mudsy told me, I thought he was lying!”

“In the flesh,” you gleam at her. “You…” You squish her cheeks between your hands. “You’re all grown! A proper young woman!”

This makes her laugh and pull you into another asphyxiating hug. She pulls back to take a good look over your features. You’re sure you looked far more sickly than the last she’s seen you. Your hair was chopped to your shoulders, opposed to the long locks you had so many years ago. Your skin was pale and lacking tone, your body thin, bags under your eyes and wrinkles along your brow.

“I’m loving the short hair,” she tells you, her smile prominent on her features.

“I’m loving your whole look! I mean, honestly, your style is putting me up for my money,” you beam. You just stand, looking over each other for a moment before her expression changes a bit more sad, and she pulls you in again.

“I’ve missed you,” she confesses, burying her face in your shoulder. You smile sadly, imitating her motions.

“I’ve missed you, too, kid,” you admit.

“When things got messed up, I… I just thought I’d never see you again.”

You pull back and brush her hair back, faking a smile at her. “I know. I-I didn’t really know, either.”

“But, you’re here now, right?” she smiles again. “That’s all that matters. Come on!” She motions you to follow her. “I’ve got to show you my new room! And my brand new friend!”

“What kinda friend?” you question, and she waves you off.

“Katsu!”  
  


* * *

**April, 2000**

 

Filming day number two is underway. Cold, damp. Far different from earlier that week when filming Clint Eastwood. That was okay, though. You preferred Chelmsford when it was gloomy, anyway.

Today was a city tour for Tomorrow Comes Today. The only somewhat normal idea Jamie had for their videos. By help from yours truly, of course. If it was left up to Jamie and that olive monster, there’d be zombies popping out of the ground in every video.

Not to mention the wild party after the first video was filmed. 2D had told you that those would be recurring. And he was right. You’d been at Kong Studios for a week and there had been three parties. If you don’t count every night Murdoc gets shit-faced drunk, anyway. Because of Murdoc’s unwillingness to cooperate, the next shoot had been pushed back. You didn’t entirely mind, getting to spend time with the band and wander into the city on your own time like you’d always wanted to, and Jamie was more than happy to be hanging with his friend.

He let you know that there would be a party after every video was finished filming. A celebration of sorts, yes, but not bothering in moderation. You could handle a party just fine, even if you tried not to make it your scene. You have an addictive personality. Shit like that; well, you could get more than used to it.

The majority of your ‘legendary’ Clint Eastwood party was you and Russel getting high together. The two of you got along well. Noodle tagged along, happily in the spirit of high, laughing hysterically with the two of you. She was cute. You could get used to hanging with them.

But you know you can’t.

2D repeatedly came in and left out throughout the night. As if he wanted to stay, maybe, but couldn’t find any reason to. You offered him your joint, but he refused. And the kid seemed out of it. Noodle could get into the spirit of things, but he seemed a bit incapable. Odd enough.

Maybe there was something else going on, but you didn’t know.

You learned that perhaps the crazy music videos fit them as people. Their backgrounds and stories were like nothing you had ever heard while out on the road.

Weird shit has happened to each of them. Noodle showed up with no recollection of her past in some huge crate shipped from Japan. Russel was possessed by his friends who were killed in a drive-by shooting. This included Del, of course, who you saw in the music video shoot.

2D had black eyes from his and Murdoc’s meeting, which Murdoc seemed to remember fondly, telling the story like he had rehearsed it a thousand times. A blue haired, black eyed God, he called him.

Murdoc was quick to share 2D’s story but refused to tell his own. You didn't push it. Best not to get attached to them, anyway.

You and Jamie were happily collaborating on your individual jobs for the day, and you were given photography duty. Something that you were good at, a definite strong suit. Jamie must have figured the last shoot freaked you out enough, so this would be a nice change of pace. Far more up your alley.

And just like that, you were on the road.

You and Jamie in the front, happily in shotgun, speeding in a black, tinted window van.

It was, per usual, a dreary day in Essex. Your assignment required taking pictures of the city in its natural habitat. Catch people on the street, doing their thing. Parking garages, strip clubs, city lights, whatever you thought described the city well. And it reminded you of your hometown, taking pictures of the not-so-pretty side of things.

You smile to yourself as Jamie blasts one of his mixtapes, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The rest of the band hang in the spacey back seats. Just the two of you, today. No crew help. Jamie seemed to know exactly what he wanted to do when you were delegating duties for the day.

Jamie pulls over once you’re over to some slightly-abandoned part of the city he wants pictures of. You get out, jumping from the car that’s a foot off the ground, taking a look around. You find your eyes drawn to some graffiti, and know where your first mission is. You turn to see the band members have removed themselves from the van, as well, Noodle taking off running in the opposite direction. Your eyes lock with 2D’s, who had been looking at you. You give him a shy smile, raising your eyebrows and lifting a hand in a “hello”. He seems to snap out of whatever daze he was in, and blushes, removing his eyes from you and scratching the back of his neck.

You simply smile and turn, making your way over to your camera’s first victim.

You caught pictures of some wild street art, and the larger buildings surrounding the area. You saw Jamie posing some of the guys in the middle of the empty street, but barely paid attention to what he was doing. Next thing, you were on the road once more.

“Hey,” Jamie says, attracting your attention. “Open the sunroof. Get some shots,” he orders, and you already know exactly what he’s asking for.

You slide yourself through the car seats, waving to the band who laxly lay about. You twist the knob to open the sunroof fully, and slowly lift your head through it, taking a look about. The wind is strong enough to cut off your air supply, but you sacrifice for your art. You snap some shots of passing buildings, blurring them in the speed of the vehicle, slipping yourself back inside to check them out and breathe.You slouch onto the

You slouch onto the ground and hear Noodle yell something out that you don’t understand, so you reply with a “What?” Russel laughs. “I think she wants to know what you’re doing.”

“Taking pictures.” You smile, and she gets off her long couch to come look over your shoulder.

You flip through the couple that you took outside of the oversized sunroof, and she looks at them curiously.

“Take me!” she tells you, lifting her arms into the air. The kid has energy, that’s for sure. “Well…” you mumble, looking around in search of something to prop her up on, but coming up with nothing.

“Alright, let’s try it. I have no upper arm strength, so pray for yourself,” you tell her, though you have no idea how much of your words she actually understands.

You hook your hands under her arms, and she squeals, but you manage to lift her enough for her to grip onto the opening in the ceiling, and you set her over your shoulders easily. You crouch weirdly to let her stick her head out, and you can hear her yelling and laughing, yelling out nonsense in Japanese. You laugh as your legs shake a bit, and you can hear the guys laughing behind you.

You lift yourself, and she squeals higher, gripping onto your head silly, just like a kid would. You look over the roof of the car and laugh with her, screaming when she does. A car honks at you, which only makes you scream louder, and you have a strange moment of enjoyment. The wind blows against your skin. Feel something in your chest tighten and release. You try not to focus on it.

She seems to be pretty happily occupied before your legs start to give out and you fall onto your knees. She laughs and rolls backward off of your shoulders, clutching at her stomach.

You turn to her, laughing as well, as Russel picks her up and throws her over her shoulder. She says things you can’t make out in between bursts of laughter, and you rake a hand through your wind blown hair.

“What the hell are you doing back there?” yells Jamie over his music.

You prop your head up behind his chair, looking over his shoulder to the road. You snap a picture of him driving. Just for yourself.

“Having fun, I think,” you admit, smiling widely.

He scoffs. “Kara Spalding? Having  _ fun _ ? I don’t think so.”

You shove his head, and he yells something at you, along the lines of, “do you  _ want _ us to crash?”, but you simply turn back to take more pictures. One of the band hanging in the back seat, a couple of the views outside the window, and even more focusing your attention on the road in front of your van.

You reach spot number two, a run down neighborhood. Now, this is what you’re talking about.

You smile to yourself, completely in your element.

You find yourself wandering alone down a broken, pot-holed road, getting some great pictures of the local graffiti. You get some pictures of the broken down houses, though you’re not sure if that’s really what Jamie is looking for. Just for yourself, then, to give you inspiration later. You live for the dirtier streets where things are more complicated than meets the eye. You grew up in an infamous city, known for being dirty, full of criminals, rap beats, and graffiti. But while others judged it, you found something strangely beautiful about it. You had photography projects you wanted to pursue in the area, but never got to when you suddenly had to move.

You hear a rock kick behind you, scaring you out of your thoughts. You turn quickly to see 2D, looking at you shyly.

“Sorry! Sorry…” He walks up to you. “Didn’t mean to scare ya,” he apologizes, and you just laugh, feeling your accelerated heart rate begin to calm.

“You’re fine,” you tell him. You snap a picture of both of your shoes on the concrete before you pick up walking again, 2D falling in step next to you.

You breathe in the air as it lightly hits your face, and you keep your eyes focused on your surroundings, searching for a source of inspiration.

“What was Jamie doing with you guys?” you question, making small-talk but also curious.

He shrugs. “Posing us on the street, recorded me singin’, did somefin’ weird with Murdoc.”

“Sounds about right.”

“What’re you doing?” he asks you. You spot an old, tall house. Paint chipping, windows broken, boarded up, etc. And it was perfect. You make a sharp turn towards it.

“Finding some inspiration.”

“So, workin’ hard or hardly workin'?”

You smile. “Hardly,” you respond, getting some pictures of the front of the building.

You climb over the fence to the backyard, searching for some kind of entrance. You spot an open window, higher up on the second floor. You snap some pictures of the overgrown plants making a new wall over the broken siding. You start looking around for something to climb on, finding discarded piece of furniture in the backyard.

As you start dragging a wobbly chair over to the side, 2D gives you a strange look. “What’re you doing?”

“Exploring, adventuring, whatever you wanna call it.”

“Trespassing,” he says, a crooked smile on his face. You look at him and smile, lifting your eyebrows in invitation.

He looks around, as if someone would catch you. “It’s real easy.”

“You sure?” he asks.

“C’mon,” you chirp, climbing onto the shaking chair. You zip up your jacket with your camera carefully tucked inside, and pull your dark, long hair back and out of your face with a red bandana. “You done this before?” he chuckles.

You simply throw him a smile before throwing your arms up, gripping tightly and swinging yourself up. You almost slip, your stomach dropping, but you manage to get your knee on the window sill, falling not-so-gracefully inside. You get up and dust yourself off, looking out the window to see 2D trying his hardest to cautiously stand on the chair as it teeters beneath him.

He almost falls over, causing you to laugh, but he’s far taller than you, making his climb much easier than yours. He runs a hand through his hair when he makes it through the window, taking in his surroundings. The floor is dusty, graffiti all over the walls. The wallpaper is tearing, and the wooden floors creak beneath your feet as you crouch to get some shots.

“Soo… you’re into…” he trails off.

“Abandoned homes, graffiti, run-down streets and things,” you smile at him. “Yes.”

He smiles at this, seeming almost impressed in a way. You walk further into the house, exploring the other bedrooms. He follows you quickly.

“But, like… why?” he asks. You chuckle.

“I grew up in a not-so-perfect place. Reminds me of home, maybe.”

“Where was tha’?”

“Detroit. Michigan,” you answer, snapping the crooked staircase.

“How’d you end up here?”

You don't want to answer. Nothing against him. Some things you just don't share.

You shrug, trying to be polite. “Long story,” you tell him, and he seems to get it.

“It's nice here, anyway,” you admit. “More my style.” You look back to him, his lanky figure standing what you assume is an entire foot taller than you. “I like the rain and gloomy weather. People act the same. Plus,” you expand, heading down the stairs, “I had explored every nick and corner in my hometown and every neighboring city. Now, overseas, I get to start over.”

He's smiling at you when you look over, and you can't help as you lift your camera to catch him on the steps, leaving him blushing. You giggle.

“You like it here?” you ask, continuing your exploring.

“Yeah, yeah. S’pose I'd like to travel, though. I been ‘ere all my life.”

You get an idea. You turn to him, smiling. “Hey, I used to play this game called true or false. Used to use it to get secrets out of friends in high school.” He raised his eyebrows. “But could be used to, you know, get to know someone. You just say a statement, the person answers true or false, and can elaborate or not.”

He gives you a funny look. “Okay. Like what?”

“Liiike… You always dreamed of being a singer.”

He smiles. “False? I dunno, I guess. I was only nineteen when I met Murdoc. I was jus’ workin’ to work.”

“You ever thought about pursuing music?”

“Guess maybe my subconscious or somefin’ prolly thought about it. Always loved it. I remember…” he smiles fondly, looking down as if envisioning the scene, “I remember jumping up an’ down on my bed to The Clash and The Human League. Mum an’ dad always yelled at me for makin’ a racket.”

The two of you find yourselves in the empty living room, sitting cross-legged opposite of each other. He confirms that the story Murdoc told was true, that his mother and father had professions of nurse and mechanic - you had guessed baker and lawyer, to your dismay - where he used to work, what his childhood was like; the guy was interesting to say the least.

“What about you?” he asks suddenly.

“What about me?”

“Well, what about your childhood or your parents or hopes and aspirations?” He smiles goofily at you. There are things you don’t talk about. 2D gives off this air of comfort. Something about sitting here with him listening to all of his crazy stories makes you feel something. And you’re sure it terrifies you.

Attractive, kind, interesting. Seems to be adventurous, at least. Something that’s quite hard to find in a person besides yourself. Maybe that’s why you and Jamie got along so well. You were similar. That would drive you two crazy after a while, yes, but you always know who to call when you’re aching for a midnight road trip.

You contemplate. “I’ll tell you what. You can give me any statement, and I’ll answer. But just… I don’t want to explain anything.”

He frowns at that but doesn’t question. “Okay…” he mumbles, thinking. “You have bigger aspirations for yourself.”

“Jumping right in, aren’t we?” You laugh, shifting uncomfortably. “Um, true, I guess.”

He nods, looking you up and down. “You look like your mother.”

You exhale. “True.”

“You were a clumsy kid.”

This makes you laugh a bit. “True.”

He gives a small smile, continuing. “You~... Your dad or mum was a pilot.” You chuckle with a ‘no’. “Flight agency?” Another ‘no.’ He curses, making you giggle.

“Mom owned a pub downtown, and my dad... “ you pause, thinking of what to say next, “He worked around, I guess you could say.”

He nods, seemingly quite interested.

“Your parents live here?”

“Um. Half.”

His expression is taken back a bit, but he just keeps his eyes on you. “So, you had a hard childhood.”

Another exhale. “True.”

“You love music. Always wanted to work with it.”

You smile a bit. “Yeah, yeah. True.”

He smiles graciously back at you. “Got any talents?”

“Yeah, guess so. I’m a, uh, singer. Dabble in piano, but never properly learned. I could probably crank out a couple chords on the guitar. Oh! And I played percussion in high school, so I got pretty good rhythm.” He’s beaming at you.

“Tha’s quite the repertoire! I didn’t know you could sing,” he exclaims.

“Yeah, well, most people don’t,” you tell him, and it comes out far more disappointed than you intended.

“What are you doing here, then?”

This catches you off guard. “Well, I…” You don’t entirely know. “Life gets in the way, I guess. And I was always told to shoot for something practical.” You sigh. “School didn’t entirely go the way I had planned. Didn’t plan on majoring in film production, didn’t plan on-” You stop yourself.

He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but decides against it. Suddenly, an idea-filled expression crosses his face. “You should sing on the album!”

You look at him incredulously. “Oh, nonono, I honestly  _ could not _ do that,” you explain, but his face is so bright you feel guilty for trying to break his spirit.

“You could! I mean, assumin’ you’re good, Murdoc would be bloody thrilled, I’m sure.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know, 2D.”

“Well, maybe just… Jam with me, then? Jus’ lemme see what you got.”

His smile is too pure to ruin. “Yeah. Yeah, okay,” you agree, and he nods happily.

You hear someone yelling your name in the distance, and realize you completely forgot to keep track of the time. You glance to your watch and find that you’re find minutes behind meet-up time, so you race to your feet. You recognize the voice as Jamie’s, and you rush to the nearest window, calling out his name.

“Marco!” he yells.

You groan, about to yell a ‘Polo!’, before you just decide on “Give me a minute!”

“C’mon, we’re late,” you tell 2D, who lifts himself from the ground as you attempt to open the back door. You’ve done this plenty of times, so you do your usual method of unlocking by kicking the door harshly while pulling the door knob. Of course, the door slips open, and you tuck under some of the boards to reach the back yard. 2D follows you out, and you find Jamie standing in the middle of the road, yelling profanities at you for not being back on time. When he seems to notice 2D, he stops, narrowing his eyes at you.

He walks up closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “If you are getting that kid involved in your life, I swear to God, you will hate yourself more than I hate myself for ever sleeping with you,” he whispers to you so 2D doesn’t hear, mocking and sarcastic and mean, just as he is. You almost laugh.

“You know me. And I can’t. You know that.”

He nods, removing his arm. “Mhm. Suure.”

You punch him in the arm, and he feigns pain. “And you don’t hate yourself for sleeping with me, so, shut your stupid face,” you tell him, only making him laugh out.

“Got that right, kid.” He grabs your face and kisses your temple, walking out ahead of you, leaving you and 2D walking quietly next to each other. The sky is dark and you hear some thunder rolling in the distance, but then again, when don’t you?

“So, you, uh, wit’ Jamie?” He asks, staring at his shoes.

“Oh, God, no. Him and I would never get along,” you reply, trying not to think about the implications of him asking you in the first place.

“Oh.” is all he says.

He clears his throat. “Jus’ between you an’ me, I think him and Muds got somethin’ goin’ on.” You laugh. “I got no proof yet, but I’m workin’ on it.”

“Well, if you find out, you gotta let me know. I could ask Jamie, but he wouldn’t be honest with me, I’m sure.” Breaks the pact you two have, as well, not getting involved in the others’ business unless requested. Sprinkles fall from the dark clouds hanging over your heads, and you stop to look up for a moment, feeling them fall lightly on your face. You hands happily rest in your pockets, and you just stand and breathe for a minute. Be lucky you’re alive for this. 2D’s elbow nudging you breaks you out of your small trance, the soft look on his face swallowing you for a moment. You lose your breath before you manage to smile back at him, happily falling into step beside each other once more.

The rain hits you lightly, and you find 2D walking closer to you, his arm rubbing up against yours. It makes you smile, but you don’t dare look at him. You’re far more than comfortable walking silently down the broken street with him, your eyes on the pavement, a slight restriction in your lungs.


	4. Purposeful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes lift to meet yours, and it’s purposeful this time. Trying to speak to you. You don’t dare look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man, getting comments is literally so amazing. you guys are crazy sweet and i love that there are people out there enjoying this!! also, kinda cheesy last lines in this chapter, but who cares. lemme live for the cheese. 
> 
> i love all of y'all, enjoy <3
> 
> p.s. false history here. Gorillaz went to Jamaica to record with Popcaan, but that's been changed for the sake of story. oh, whale.
> 
> ALSO slight TW for bruise-play, I guess? don't really know the protocol for this, and it isn't much, but boy do i love sexual tension.

**July, 2016**

 

Night came quickly. 

You and Noodle spent the rest of the day hanging out and chatting in her room, which was expectedly beautiful. There was a garden right outside her window, which she cheerily gave you a tour of, and you unknowingly spent hours rolling around on her hardwood floors, laughing at all of her crazy tour stories.

It was interesting, the way she talked of her bandmates. All of them were like different father-figures to her. She loved them all unconditionally, you could tell. She looked to Murdoc for cheering up, to Russel for advice, and to 2D for comfort. Each had something different to offer her when she was growing up, and they all took her in with open arms to teach her everything she needed. To give her the happy childhood they didn’t get to have.

They were a beautifully unlikely family.

You had hardly noticed how much time had passed before you started to hear the loud hum of amps coming from somewhere outside her room, and Russel came in to tell you collaborators were over to work on a new song. It was midnight. And 2D was home.

“Are you planning on staying?” asks Noodle.

You think for a moment, staring up at her ceiling. You hadn’t really considered it. Of course, it’s what you did last time. But, that was in your job description. Just happens they were friendly enough that you didn’t feel the need to stay in your camper, but spent nights inside with the gang, getting up to different shenanigans.

And, now, well… Things were different, to say the least.

Of course, you could always just stay in Noodle’s room. Stay out of the way as much as possible.

Though, you admit, you know what you really came here for.

“No pressure,” she adds, turning her head over to you. You both lay sprawled on her floor, hands interlaced between your bodies. “But we’d all love to have you.”

You accidentally scoff, and she rolls her eyes at you. “I’m just saying!” she defends, “You have to stay for the photography project anyway, so it’d just be easier if you-”

“What photography project?”

You look at her, lifting yourself onto your elbow. She seems confused. “The project? For the album?”

“I have not been informed on any such project,” you tell her, your voice rising.

“Calm down! I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding, um,” she trails off, thinking. “I’m guessing Murdoc just didn’t tell you.”

“Am I being hired?”

She gives you an unsure look. “Well, the cheapskate probably thought you’d do it out of the kindness of your heart.”

You roll your eyes and get to your feet. “Oh, that bastard’s got another thing coming.”

You went immediately to the recording studio, where you were sure he would be. And there he was, in all his green-skinned glory, cradling his bass lovingly in his arms, chit chatting away with men you haven’t seen before.

His face lights up a bit when he sees you, but then notices your angry demeanor, placing his bass down gently as you berate him.

“What the hell, Muds? Am I here for something more than what you told me?”

He smiles snidely at you. “Honey, you’re here for a lot more than that.”

“I’m being serious,” you deadpan.

He gets up, directing his friends’ attention away from the two of you. “Look, I was trying to ease you into it. This is all a lot for you anyway, right? Can’t deny that, love.”

You stare at him for a moment, crossing your arms and narrowing your eyes at him. “So? Are you gonna hire me then, or what?”

“Of course, love. Whatever you want. You will most likely have to document our whole process. If we fly overseas, you’re coming with. Go’ it?”

You roll your eyes and nod. “Thanks for the heads up.”

You’ve documented their journeys in the past. Something you loved doing out of your own free will. There was something a bit intimate about looking through pictures of the band when they hadn’t known those pictures were being taken. Fans ate them up, of course, and Murdoc had briefly talked to you about doing the same thing - but as an actual job - for the next album. That was, of course, before everything got screwed up.

Luckily, your camera was always on your person. You never know when inspiration is going to strike. And that was something that had never changed throughout the years; your absolute love for capturing things nobody else seemed to care for.

Your phone buzzing in your pocket removes you from your thoughts.

“Yeah?” you answer, removing yourself from the recording studio.

“Hey, where are you?” You recognize Alayna through the muffled speakers.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry. Guess I got a bit caught up here.”

“Yeah, I’ll say. It’s past midnight. Are you coming home?”

You think. Maybe not tonight. The band is collaborating, which would be a great thing to capture. Tons of little ideas cross your mind as to how you plan on organizing the pictures, perhaps in their own booklet or in their lyric book, thinking about what vibe you want, what side of the band you want to show… Carried away, and you haven’t even heard their music yet. Hell, even they haven't heard their music yet.

“Yeah, no, I think I’m gonna stay tonight. Already pretty late.”

It’s silent for a moment on the other end. “... I don’t want to be that guy, but are you sure?”

“I haven’t gotten into anything I can’t handle,” you reassure her.

“ _ Yet _ .”

“Hey, now, don’t patronize me. I can handle myself.”

You can hear her frustrated sigh. “You and I both very well know that you  _ can’t _ .”

“Is the faith really that little in this relationship?”

She’s quiet. “I’m just looking out for you. I don’t want you to… end up in a situation that upsets you.

You lean in closer to the wall, lowering your voice. “Look, I haven’t even seen him yet. I just… was given another job and I’m gonna stick around tonight to get a good start on it.”

“Alright~, just be careful. If you need me, call. My phone will be near.”

You smile. “Yeah, okay. Love you,  _ mom _ .”

She responds with a ‘Love you, too’, and you hang up. You suddenly see a figure brush past you, one that you absolutely recognize, but he doesn’t seem to notice you, or at least wants to pretend he doesn’t. Your heart stops for a moment as the wind of his speed-walk hits you, and you turn around to see him walk into the recording studio, machine in-hand.

Of course.

Noodle comes out of the room almost as soon as he enters it, giving you a wide-eyed look.

“That bad?” you worry, your heart still jolting from even seeing the back of his blue-haired head.

“Well, he seems… I don’t even have a word to describe it.”

You cringe. “He’s mad. That I’m here.”

“Not mad!” she reassures, her hands landing on your shoulders. “He looked kind of confused and he was quite determined to get to work, so… That’s not bad at all!”

Oh, whatever.

You and Noodle spend the next few hours sitting outside of the recording studio talking, Russel joining you for a couple moments, seemingly enjoying your company again. Your camera sits wasting away in your hands, and you know you’ll have to go in there eventually. If not now, then when you’re recording vocals. Heavy bass hammers away from behind the closed door, and Noodle looks at you sympathetically.

“I’m gonna have to go in there, you know,” she tells you, only making you sigh.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m aware.”

Her face lights up. “How ‘bout this? Let’s get them all some beers and waters and snacks and you’ll come in, like, super nonchalant!”

You smile at her, appreciative that she’s so understanding through your anxiety about this. You nod, and the two of you get up to grab the refreshments.

You’re back at the door in a few minutes, and Noodle takes the initiative of opening the door quietly as the bass grows ten times in vibration. Someone you don’t know is behind a mic, spitting out words you don’t understand as the two of you start giving beers to the others. You set the extras down on a table, pulling out your camera from it's bag and switching it on, fumbling around with the functions to see what you can manage.

You get a couple shots of the guys candidly drinking and laughing, papers strewn out across the floor, scribbles all over them. A few more of the collaborator you now know as Popcaan, though he insisted you call him Andrae, behind the mic. Not to mention a really cute picture of Noodle sitting next to Murdoc, both on their preferred instrument, both jamming away, seemingly unavailable to the rest of the world.

You paid 2D no mind as he worked back and forth with Andrae and continued to ignore your existence. You didn’t quite mind, though, as now was obviously not the time to talk. You happily took your shots and accidentally fell asleep on the floor, before waking up again with light streaming in through the open doorway.

Murdoc and Noodle were passed out, Russel nowhere to be found, and 2D furiously scribbling away, telling someone from behind the soundboard to take it to his chorus. You sit up, trying to ignore the heat that fills your cheeks at the sound of his voice. You haven’t heard in so long. You look at your phone, and it reads 12:30.

You were barely around for the writing and recording process before, if at all, but it seemed to be quite exhausting.

A beat starts up and goes for a few measures, sounding surprisingly techno.

A voice that you recognize as Popcaan’s plays through the speakers before the blue-haired singer opens his mouth.

“ _ I’m in the stakin’ bar, I got debts, I’m a debaser _ .”

His voice gives you chills. A style completely different from what you were used to hearing from them. His voice has gotten progressively deeper throughout the album's, their style of music constantly maturing.

But this was really something else. You lift yourself to your feet, turning on your camera. Focus on your job.

“ _ Saturn's about to make love, and I’m just, a heartbreaker. _ ”

You snap a few pictures of the soundboard and the man behind it, adjusting certain knobs while 2D sings on the other side of the glass, his eyes closed in concentration. Your camera is taken down from your eyes slowly as the song continues, being entranced by his voice.

There’s an instrumental break, which definitely seems to be missing something, but he stands still, listening intently to the music. His eyes open and meet yours just as he begins again, and he looks away from you, your heart skipping once more.

“ _ With the holograms beside me, I’ll dance alone tonight _ .”

His eyes lift to meet yours, and it’s purposeful this time. Trying to speak to you. You don’t dare look away.

“ _ In a mirrored world, are you beside me? All my life… _ ”

The track fades out, while Andrae claps from his seat on the ground, sipping his beer and scribbling something more down in a notebook. The man behind the board works quickly with his headphones on, messing with the computer out of your peripheral vision, but your eyes are still on his. He seems to panic, looking away, his eyes darting around the room, before grabbing his notes and storming quickly out of the room with his head down, ignoring the shouts to get his attention from his friends.

The door slams and it causes you to flinch, making eye contact with Noodle, who looks confused and sleep-deprived. She drags a hand through her hair, laughing nervously, before getting up and offering to get some food for everyone. She kicks Murdoc awake, who growls in response, and you sink onto the floor with the pat of her hand.

You hope every encounter isn’t like this.

 

* * *

 

**April, 2000**

 

You walk around set with your camera, capturing little conversations and all the unfinished pieces of the set as everyone works on them. This band was interesting to say the least. 

You find Jamie and Murdoc talking, with their arms wrapped over two blown up cheerleader dolls, and it’s an odd sight. So, of course, you snap your camera at them. Jamie notices the flash and waves you over.

“Alright,” he starts as you approach, “I need you to go and edit up the footage from last week if you don’t mind. You can break from this shoot.” You almost let out a sigh of relief. Your city tour had gone so late into the night that you barely got any sleep, and you’ve spent the last week of nights going through every little photo you took, deciding what was good enough to keep and what to get rid of. You and Jamie had collaborated on exactly what style you wanted the video to be in, and though it was entirely different than the rest of the shoots you were doing, he agreed it would be giving the audience a good taste of everything; something for everyone to enjoy.

You happily complied, and the band seemed to agree enough with him, but the editing process was painful to say the least. However, you preferred that to physically demanding activities like carrying around your giant camera from a million different and uncomfortable angles.

“Sounds good to me, boss. What the hell are you doing, anyway?”

Murdoc laughs, sounding as evil as ever. “Perhaps you should stick around, love. You’ll be missing out on  _ quite _ the show.”

“Well, sure,” you roll your eyes, “That answers my question."

Jamie shoves Murdoc’s arm, who frowns at him. “Some wild shit. Possible violence, so I thought maybe you’d want out.”

You widen your eyes. “Violence? Like what?”

His hands fly up in defense. “I said possible! Everyone is gonna be fine, but it might make you a bit anxious.” He speaks lowly, so only you can hear him, and you appreciate his kindness. You simply nod as he ruffles your hair, going back off to talk with Murdoc. And then, you’re off to work.

 

* * *

 

You decided your trailer was a bit too cramped for the kind of work you were doing, pictures and storyboards sprawled out all over the floor that you sat on in the living room of Kong Studios. Every once in a while you’d hear Jamie’s muffled voice yelling through his megaphone. You hate that thing. He loves it; gives him a power-trip whenever he got to use it.

You were layering image over image, having them flip at lightning speed behind an intimidating 2D, working by section. The video definitely mixes well with the song. You hadn’t gotten any time to actually listen to their music quite yet, but this definitely had a vibe you enjoyed. Something slower with a bit more meaning to it. You’re deciphering what exactly the lyrics must mean when you hear the shuffle of people somewhere on the floor beneath you.

Murdoc shuffles into the room, wearing nothing but underwear with a cigarette snagged between his teeth, and you immediately cover your eyes, yelling out for him to put on some clothes.

“What, as if you don’t see somethin’ you like?” You hear more feet shuffle into the room, and he lets out some growl, mumbling he’ll put something on. Your hand lets up from your eyes, and you take a look around, not seeing Murdoc but having your eyes be met with a bloody and bruised 2D. A rip around the knee and a scratch left behind it, a bruise forming around an eye, more rips on the elbows of his shirt, and what you can only assume is blood dripping through the fabric of his shirt.

Your stomach drops when you see him, and he locks eyes with you, his facial expression a bit confused.

“Oh, my God, Stuart-”

You can’t quite form words as you get up and scramble over to his body as it leans against the doorframe. You look over the scratch on his elbow, and he flinches at your touch. All he does is blink at you, and you’re not sure why.

“What the hell? Did this happen during the shoot?”

He shakes his head quickly, snapping back into reality. “It’s noffin’, really. Jus’ feelin’ a little woozy.” His back slides a little down the archway, and you attempt to hold him up.

“Just let me-” You reach for the hem of his shirt and lift it up carefully, feeling a bit sick at the sight of his beaten side, accompanied with a decent pool of blood. His shirt is completely ruined, it looks like.

He pulls his shirt back down quick, blushing at the floor. All you do is roll your eyes and tell him to follow you, and he does.

Your trailer was far too small for the both of you. 2D was taller than the ceiling allowed, and two people walking through the thin hall was more of an obstacle course. You would have helped him out inside Kong Studios, of course, but they were lacking on any necessary medical supplies other than a myriad of different pain pill brands, which 2D nonchalantly downed the moment you went into his bathroom.

You decided not to question it.

“Just sit on the bed, there,” you direct him, and he squeezes past you with his head ducked to avoid the ceiling. You try not to think of the implications.

You reach into your first aid kid, nicely hung on the wall. Gauze, hydrogen peroxide, bandaids, antiseptic wipes, tweezers, ibuprofen, and a hundred other little things. Shoots that generally lasted long enough for you to need to stay overnight in your trailer tended to be more dangerous than others. You came prepared, to say the least.

“I don’ need any special treatment. I can take care of it m’self,” he told you, for the umpteenth time. It technically was not in your job description to help with any medical emergencies that went on during shoots. And this wasn’t technically a medical emergency, either. But the bruises were already forming from not even an hour of sitting, and the cuts kept bleeding through his shirt, so you figured it might be worth helping out with. Not to mention that you’re fond of the kid.

“Take your shirt off,” you tell him. You ignore your blush as your peripherals see him remove it, wincing in pain as he does so. You take out the hydrogen peroxide and one of the larger band-aids meant for something like a side gash. Just what you were using it for, basically.

You grab cotton swab pads from your makeup cabinet along with a rag you wet in the sink and usher over to your injured boy.

His naked torso takes you back with the massive gash, and you begin wondering if all this nonsense is worth it. How he even managed to get that is beyond you, but you simply kneel in front of the edge of your makeshift bed to tend to him.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles as you fumble with the unopened hydrogen peroxide bottle.

You look up at him. “No need to be.”

He shrugs as if he wants to apologize again, but stops himself.

“Tell me if there’s too much pressure,” you tell him, taking your wet washcloth and pressing it to his skin to clean off the blood. He immediately winces, and you hesitate, but his eyes are staring blankly to the back of the hall, so you keep going. You try to get all of the already dried blood off before fresh begins to leak through the open wound. So much for this washcloth, then.

You get up to rinse it off, not bothering to be grossed out by the blood under your fingernails.

You return to his side. “Sorry. I’m no nurse,” you tell him, but he only smiles away from you.

“Neither am I,” he notes, and you replace the bloodied cloth with cotton pads. You take the hydrogen peroxide and pour a big onto a pad.

“This might sting,” you inform him, and he simply nods in response.

You take the pad and press it onto his biggest gash, and he seethes, breathing heavily in and out. Bound to burn, you know. You take the bottle and pour the liquid down his side and catch it on your cotton pad, and he lets out an “Ah!” at the sensation.

When you look up to him, and his eyes are closed. Eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip fit snugly between his teeth. Looks like he’s having sex, almost, but you try to push the thought out of your head.

Taking a new pad for his smaller scrapes on his knees and right arm, you brush them off with peroxide, unashamedly watching his expressions. You get up to grab some smaller bandaids for his scrapes, and notice him letting out a sigh at your absence. _Don’t draw any conclusions._

You make your way back and carefully place the small bandages on his scraped knee, and take his arm to apply them there, as well. You study the cut, looking back up to him. He’s turned away from you, now, and you can’t help the small bit of curiosity sparking your mind as your fingers inch across his skin. You’re suddenly very aware of the absence of his clothes, and feel your ears burning. Well, sure. Just figures. You’re always one to get carried away.

A finger hovers over the scratch, slowly coming to stand in front of its own bruise. You cautiously press down lightly, only dragging your finger across it. Pure curiosity. And his breath hitches, his head only turning farther from your sight.

_ Don’t push it. _

You slide your hand gingerly over the exposed skin of his torso, meeting his right side in a quick brush that left goosebumps in it's wake. You were going to push it.

Fingertips ghost over an already bruising mark, to the left of his gash. Prepare to apologize if he winces, if you took it too far. But your hand presses down slowly onto the mark, applying pressure where any normal person would avoid, and his voice cracks.

Choking out some sound. A moan. You’re sure of it.

Your hand remains pressed, and you’re hyper-aware of the movement of his chest, his breath quickened and short.

“...2D?”

Your voice isn’t even a whisper, but you can’t help but test forbidden waters.

He turns his head back to you, his pale skin flushed, looking over the scene. And it unnerves you, so you pull your hand away slowly, trying to retain some kind of eye contact with him. “I’m sorry-”

“No, no! Don’t be,” he reassures you. “‘S okay.  _ I’m _ sorry.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to  _ assume _ anything-”

“I led you to assume it.”

And you’re quiet. Something so strange, it could only make sense he would enjoy it. Everything about him screams submissive. But to such an extreme? Guess you can’t be too surprised.

And your hand has a mind of its own.

You reach back up as your fingers grow accustomed to the feel of his skin, memorizing, before pushing down a bit harder. This time there’s not a doubt; he groans. Quiet, but unmistakable. A hot blush spreads across your cheeks, and you’re about to press down on another when-

“ _ Dents _ ?!” Hard banging is heard from across the way, and you fly from him like shrapnel. Your heart beats hard in your chest, and you try to regain your breath when they bang again.

“I know you’re in there!” Murdoc.

“What do you want?” you call to him, annoyance obvious in your tone.

“The bloody hell are you doin’ in there?”

“ _ What do you want? _ ” you repeat, your voice a power not to be reckoned with.

“None of your fuck’n business! Gimme Dents!”

You sigh and look over at the injured boy. He looks completely compromised; his face blushing and drawn in a worried expression, half naked, blood still pouring down his side. You’d think his pimp was after him.

“Just… Give me a minute!” you yell to Murdoc, who gives you no further responses.

“I’m sorry,” you tell 2D, quickly attaching the largest bandage to his side.

“For what?” he implores, “You’re nicer to me than anybody else in this place.”

You can’t help when your movements slow. Ridiculous. How could anybody be mean to such a sweet man?

“Well, I…” You stand, holding your hand out to help him up. “You’re always welcome. Here. Or in my company, I guess?” He smiles goofily at you. “Whatever, you know what I mean.” And you laugh. What a beautiful thing.

You never seem to get enough of that.

He slides his shirt back on, and the two of you look at each other for a minute too long. You glance down, breaking the eye contact, and he is gone with another “thank you” left hanging in the heavy air you breathe. He isn’t there, but his presence still is. Like some sort of apparition. Haunting after he leaves.

And you know how close you were to doing something you’d regret. Hell, you might as well already be there. Your squeaky mattress accepts your weight as you flop onto it, contemplating.

No way in hell could you fall for him.

But then, a thought: What if you can’t stop yourself?

  
  



	5. Delicate, Careful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc wasn’t kidding about parties after every shoot. And you got a load of it. You had half a mind to think what was actually making 2D uncomfortable wasn’t your close proximity to him, but your drunken nature. He was smarter than he was given credit for. He must be able to tell an alcoholic when he sees one. Well, he’s an addict, isn’t he? But you didn’t question that, no. Wasn’t your place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i can't believe how incredibly sweet all of you wonderful readers are (': whenever i see a new comment my heart stops seriously. you guys are amazing. i'm so unbelievably happy people enjoy this story and think my writing is well done! i can't express my gratitude enough!!
> 
> enjoy some drunken fun!

**July 2016**

 

“It really couldn’t have been that bad,” she sighs, playing with the lime on the edge of her Margarita. 

“Well, you sure weren’t there. I was just, hardcore cringing.”

You shove a handful of peanuts into your mouth, watching the passers-by. It was cold outside, London’s summer air always icy, but that was nothing compared to the sweaty bodies surrounding you. The dancefloor is full of half naked women and their selected partners, mating rituals taking place right before your eyes. You always felt a bit out of place in scenes like this; a place your depressive alcoholic self-loved to visit back when days were darker, stealing home the first man who gave you the time of day. Nowadays, it was Alayna’s favorite place to find a hookup. You didn’t mind tagging along to make sure she was safe, though you hated the stench of it. She insisted on a club rather than a bar, so you complied for her.

“I just… wish I knew what he was thinking.

She takes on a deadpan stare. “Everyone has tried telling you, haven’t they? Your choice that you didn’t wanna hear it." She drinks her Margarita in a matter-of-fact fashion.

All you can do is roll your eyes, but you know she’s right. Every position you put yourself into was your own fault.

“What about the job? You getting official pay, now?”

You chuckle a bit. “Wondering if I can pay my rent this month?”

She smiles at you, but you recognize its familiar sad undertone. It was no secret you’d be drifting lately. Alayna always had your back and never complained when she knew you were struggling. You had a part-time job at a local animal shelter, which you enjoyed. You always happily took on far more than your job description, always wanting to incorporate your photography in all facets of your life. You’d take pictures of the less-fortunate pets who were hard to adopt, and it had shown deep increase in revenue, so they decided to hire you for specifically that. You worked from home besides that, organizing adoption meets, schedules for volunteers, etc. It was easy work for you.

But it wasn’t enough to pay the bills. You knew that, but you refused to sacrifice your creative freedom. Probably just scared of the commitment. That’s your track record, after all.

“Yeah, yeah,” you breathe with a stare to your drink. “They want photos for the lyric book and then for bonus content for Deluxe vinyls and whatnot. Easy job for me. Plus, I haggled a bit with Muds. I’ll be living well for a little while, it seems.”

She smiles at this, reassured that you’re in good hands. “You sure you’re gonna be able to handle being around them so much again?”

You nod. Try to convince yourself that what you’re saying is true. “I’ve had a change of heart. I want to… stay, maybe. If they’ll have me.”

She looks at you almost sadly, but there’s pride underneath it. A supportive hand lands on your knee.

“I’m proud of you. A lot of shit has happened the last ten years, man.” She pauses, inhaling deeply. “I think you’ve finally figured it all out.”

You don’t fake a smile, simply nodding at her instead. One can only hope.

“Hey, miss.” A strange man approaches Alayna, asking if he can buy her a drink. She looks at you for silent advice, but you just raise your eyebrows at her. Her choice. She’s a grown adult.

“Yeah, yes,” she laughs. “That would be lovely.”

You happily stand guard while the two of them chat, the man barely paying you any mind, before the two of them decide to take off to his place. You make sure she’s okay to leave with him, and she seems cheerily sober, so you give her a kiss goodbye before pulling out your phone and dialing Murdoc.

“Hello?” he answers groggily. Probably drunk, but it doesn’t matter.

“Hey. Think you could pick me up?”

The line is muffled for a minute, and you hear voices on the end, but he just responds with a “Sure thing,” and asking for your address.

In only a few minutes, he’s speeding down the road to get you, and you barely remember what a shitty driver he is. Only then had it occurred to you then that you might just be drunk, happily getting into the car that had been infamously known for causing accidents of monstrous levels.

He gives a sarcastic comment about how much he misses coming to your rescue, which you respond with a smack to the back of his head.

But, still. You know a part of you missed it, too.

 

* * *

 

**April, 2000**

 

You laugh loudly, drink in hand, leaning onto the blue-haired man next to you. He seems tense, but you can’t seem to care. You make sure you’re avoiding his bruises before folding your feet under your legs, dropping your head onto his shoulder. He nervously plays with the bottle in his hand and you breathe him in, not caring of the obvious nature of it. When you look up at his face, he’s staring half-lidded at his hands, sporting a light pink blush, absentmindedly laughing along to the scene going on in front of him.

Noodle was screaming in Japanese, playing some racing video game, while Murdoc and Russel argued incoherently about something, the rest of the crew enjoying their beers and the loud music thumping from all around. It was a sight from all directions, and you take in the warmth of the tense body beside you, not caring about the implications.

Yeah, you’re drunk. You contemplated multiple times so far whether or not to just drag 2D off and shag him in a closet, but you were still sober enough to understand how bad of an idea that would be. You shouldn’t shag the people you work with, no, especially if you have feelings for them. Nor should it be done in a closet. Or at a loud party. Or while you’re drunk.

All of the genius thoughts spawning from your drunken brain at the moment.

Murdoc wasn’t kidding about parties after every shoot. And you got a load of it. You had half a mind to think what was actually making 2D uncomfortable wasn’t your close proximity to him, but your drunken nature. He was smarter than he was given credit for. He must be able to tell an alcoholic when he sees one. Well, he’s an addict, isn’t he? But you didn’t question that, no. Wasn’t your place.

Somehow, he reminded you of yourself. But so much better than yourself. Kinder, quieter. You were loud. Always loud. Especially now, calling out for Jamie to kick Noodle’s tiny ass as he joined in a multiplayer round.

You lean over to the coffee table, pouring yourself more whiskey in your glass. You down it in one go, it's acid burning your throat, turning to 2D.

“I called you Stuart.” You’re almost yelling to be heard over the loud voices and music surrounding you.

He blinks at you, finally paying your presence mind. “Wha’?”

You smile lopsidedly at him, admiring his face as you speak. “You looked at me like I was crazy. Earlier. It was because I called you Stuart. Don’ think I’ve done that before.”

He fiddles with his bottle again, before setting it on the table, half-smiling at you. Giving you his attention. You wonder what he’s thinking. “N-no, I don’ think you ‘ave.”

“It’s a good name.” You’re happy your words aren’t slurring. “I mean, I think 2D suits you because it’s weird and nobody else would have it. Don’t know many people with black eyes and blue hair, either. But,  _ Stuart _ … Looks good on you.”

He smiles wider, looking down as he blushes. And you weren’t lying. He does look good. Goofy, but good. A giggle slides from your throat.

“Do you wanna, uh, go somewhere quieter?” you ask him, and he blushes harder at it, but you know you won’t - can’t - do anything with him. Not like this. Or ever. He’s probably able to see one of those.

He nods nonetheless, almost hesitantly, standing as you follow close behind. You reach out for his hand, and though he flinches, he lets your fingers interlace with his own. You stand in the elevator together, both of you staring at your hands. Your face feels warm. From the alcohol, yeah.

His fingers are holding strong around your hand like he has no intention of letting go.

You’re in the hallway, then, and you thank god you’re not drunk enough to be stumbling. He opens up a door to a room you assume is his, and you must be right. It’s messy, but not too bad. Keyboards hanging from the walls like decoration, so many of them, accompanied by posters of faces, some you don’t recognize, which you investigate, assuming they’re some of his idols. It’s dark and colorful and somehow still screams “2D”.

Your hand tugs and falls from his while you take a look around. He takes a seat on his bed, wincing as he does so, and you turn to him.

“You good?”

He only nods, but you’re not convinced. “You sure you don’t need, like, actual medical attention for that?”

“N-no, no! It’s okay, really. I’ve had worse.”

Your expression changes from worry to alarm. “Worse? Than that? How the hell does that happen?” All he does is shrug and you want to push it, but you don’t. You take a seat next to him on the bed, criss-cross, facing him. You understand your surroundings but care less. Your hand reaches for his shirt, pulling it up a bit. His teeth are sunk into his bottom lip, and he looks adorably innocent, though the thoughts racing through your mind are the complete opposite. If you could get his eyes to close, his brows to knit together…

Your fingers trace over the waistband of his jeans, meeting with a bruise on his side. You lightly scrape at it with your nails, and he sighs, eyes closed. Perfect.

His head falls forward onto your shoulder. All you can hear are his breaths, steadily increasing in volume while you continue your movements, before pressing down. He tenses underneath your hand before grabbing your wrist. His sigh is mixed with a moan, then, and, God, does it make your head swim.

Your chin tucks into the curve of his neck, closing your eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry.” You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for. It feels heavy as it leaves your tongue, like there’s something there you should be sorry for. Incredibly sorry for.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, removing his fingers from around your thin wrist to interlace them with yours instead. His lips meet the skin of your shoulder lightly, lingering.

He pulls back far too soon, removing himself from the bed. He clears his throat, straightening out his pants. “You promised me a jam session,” he announces.

That you did. You’re about to turn him down when your eyes meet his face, and he’s still furiously blushing, but he’s smiling. And you find yourself back again; unable to say no to him.

So, he sits at what must be his main piano at the back of his bedroom, messing over the keys before requesting you sing something.

“Like what?” you laugh.

“Anyfing! Don’t matter, I just wanna hear ya.”

You think for a moment. All you’ve listened to the past month are songs by his own band. Completely encompassed your life. You hadn’t even realized a month had almost passed. You thank god in the back of your mind that you managed to keep your life separated from 2D for so long without caving.

“Just do… Tomorrow Comes Today. But  _ only _ if you sing with me!”

He gives you a narrow look. “I’ll  _ start _ with you. Getcha comfortable.”

He plays away on the keys, playing a whole different version of the song you grew to love so much. And when it’s time, he starts, and you sing with him, and you’ve forgotten how long it’s been since you’ve sang. His brows are furrowed in concentration, whether on the piano or to hear your voice, you aren’t sure.

Eventually, he fades himself out, still quietly humming along, but it’s only your voice carrying itself. And it makes your spine crawl, but you keep going. If he wants to hear you so bad, he can.

Eventually, he cuts it off, looking at you as if you were a ghost.

“What? Was it good? Or bad?”

Your heart pounded from the nerves of singing along, but he smiles at you and it flutters instead.

“Amazing! I-I mean, I had no idea you could- well, how could I? That was really bloody good!”

You blush at his kind words, giving a playful shove to his shoulder. “Thanks, Stu.”

“Here, here…” He gets up, lanky legs carrying him across the room to grab some keyboard, setting it down on his bed. You get up to meet him there, and he messes with the keys once more.

“You said you played, too, didn’t you?”

You sigh, chuckling at yourself. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

You steal the keyboard from him, sliding it in front of you, playing a mesh of chords just to give him an idea. You were no composer or piano genius, but you liked to play in your spare time and even write the occasional song if your inspiration allowed.

“H-hey, do that again.”

You repeat the chord structure, and his eyes follow your digits intently, adding onto the tune himself. Your lips spread into a smile, humming a melody with no words.

He giggles, childlike, pressing the record button on the machine while you play it off for another round.

He claps when he hits the stop button, smiling wildly. “You've been holding out on me, love. Had no idea!” He laughs again, magic in your ears, contagious.

“I don’t know, I guess I-” you chuckle, “I never thought much of it. Just a hobby.”

“It could be more! An’ you can start here- with-” He cuts himself off when he looks back to you, proximity closer than he must have thought. His expression changes quickly, eyes flicking to your lips before he can stop them. “With us,” he finishes, barely above a whisper.

You know exactly where it’ll take you next, and you would try to avoid it if you weren’t so frozen in your spot.

It happens quick. Leans in, his lips brush yours. Delicate, careful.

You still for a moment, your breaths mingling. You don’t want this. But don’t you?

Shit is too complicated, and he is too…  _ something _ to bring into the mess you’ve made. And you built up walls, didn’t you? To make sure this kind of thing wouldn’t ever happen. But here you are, on his bed, a friend. More than a friend.

So much more than you intended.

You mold your lips to his again. Can’t help the temptation. His hand is on your jaw, keeping you there, kisses you again. Your eyes flutter open, as do his, staring into you, before pulling you in again, deeper, meaning in his motions.

He’s all cigarettes and beer, and you’re sure you’re no better. Kiss after kiss after kiss. In a split second you’re in his lap, his hand in your hair and the other finding skin wherever there’s skin, your face furiously blushing. What happened to self-control?

He pulls away with a wet smack, mumbles of apologies immediately leaving his lips. You chuckle at him; you’re straddling his lap, and he’s apologizing to you. Ridiculous, this man.

And beautiful.

You press a finger to his lips. Maybe take it farther. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Sex is sex.

You smile deviously at him. “Stop apologizing.”

Your hands guide his own to your hips, and you lean in to kiss him again, lightly. You can feel his smile before he dives in, lips taking refuge on your neck. His hands slide up your back, the contact with his skin making your head swim. He pecks around, lightly sucking in search of the spot that will make your insides twist. And he does, and it’s wonderful as he chuckles, teeth pulling at the skin, a groan escaping your lips. 

You barely notice the slight involuntary grind of your hips, comfortably weighing on him for some ounce of friction. He pulls up to kiss you again, and a yell from behind you scares your heart straight out of your chest. You can’t help the involuntary reaction to fling yourself off of 2D, hitting your head on the wall in the process. And you turn to see Noodle standing in his doorway, her hand protectively covering her eyes, barely facing the two of you.

Your head falls back into the pillow at the end of his bed. Figures.

Maybe that’s a sign from the universe, then.

2D is frozen, staring in the direction of the small girl. He looks completely flustered; hair sex-ridden, a strong pink tint covering his cheeks, clothes obviously pulled at and lying haphazardly against him. He’s the epitome of sex. And you caused that.

Isn’t that just the hottest thing you’ve ever seen...

“I just… need money,” stutters Noodle. “Pizza money.”

Laughter erupts from you. “Oh, my god.”

“I-- sorry!” she yells, yelling something else in Japanese. 

“Don’t be!” you tell her, still laughing, and you watch 2D walk across the room, grabbing his wallet from a pile of junk. He kneels in front of her, pulling her hand from her eyes and handing her some cash.

“Isn’t this usually Russel’s job? Why doesn’t he have money?” you ask.

She scratches the back of her neck. “Muddy said ‘check in!’”

He wanted her to check in on the two of you. You’d think it was ridiculous… He must have known your subconscious intentions if he saw you disappear upstairs with him. Maybe it was just to embarrass you. Or, was he doing something kind? Seems unlikely, but he seemed a bit similar to you when the two of you talk one-on-one. Maybe he really was checking in on you. Making sure you didn’t do anything stupid.

Well, fantastic timing, Murdoc.  
  
  



	6. You And The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The news wasn’t at all surprising when you received it. You couldn’t count the number of times you had wished your old man dead and gone. To never bother you or those you loved ever again. But he was so good at doing just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy oh buddy boy this was the hardest thing i've ever written and i do not know why. it just took me so long to crank it out. the longest chapter i've written at a whopping 16 pages on google docs. but i DID IT. all thanks to everybody reading it leaving such wonderful messages to me. you all seriously have no idea how much it means to me seeing all the inspiring things you say to keep me going. thanks to someones very kind comment i got some extra inspiration to finish this chapter up way past its due date. but he done. is gud.
> 
> i also did not bother proof reading because i am so done with this chapter i want to bury it alive. so i'm hoping for no grammatical errors.
> 
> thank you so much again to anybody giving my story the time of day. it's really hard to keep up with this stuff given everything going on in my life, but y'all make it worth while. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> and I thank you with smut. VERY NSFW ahead my dudes. enjoy <3

**July, 2016**

The room is heavy with silence while you sort through your pictures, favoriting certain shots as you go. You already had a hundred shots, easily, and you were going to be sure that Murdoc was stuck with the job of picking what he wanted from them. Make his life a little harder. You were good at that.

Dim light still streams in through the window to your left, dusk falling slowly. Breeze blows in as you light up a cigarette, taking a long drag as you set down your camera. In the safety of it's case, you leave it be to go find something else to do.

Of course, you could always go home. But you were determined. Want to talk to him before you leave next. However your next talk with him goes will set the mood for everything. If any of this will work or not. Are you even sure of yourself? Yeah, yeah, of course. As long as you keep telling yourself you are, perhaps you will be.

You find yourself in the kitchen, shuffling through cupboards until you find some Patron hid away behind multiple bottles of alcohol. Half empty, but this group didn’t seem like the tequila type, anyway. You search around for salt and are completely surprised to see a fully-stocked fridge. Nothing like how it was so many years ago, and you’re sure for many years after. The fridge might as well have been a useless addition to each of their mansions, only holding stale pizza and empty beer bottles. Perhaps Noodle’s handiwork. The house was getting progressively cleaner the longer you spent in it, even if it had only been four days so far. And, wow, only four days? Spending your time here feels like an eternity. Never realize how long you spend wasting days away. Like a proper addiction.

You pour some salt onto the back of your hand, readying your shot and wincing as it burns down your throat. The lime dulls it out easily and you revel in the warmth spreading through your chest. 

You weren’t an alcoholic, no. Not the way you used to be. Just about as healthy as the rest of these idiots, minus the countless amount of pills they had. You made a point to stay away from any type of medication after the incident. Only made you sick from that night on.

“Didn’t invite me to the party?” A voice scares you from your thoughts. As you turn you see Murdoc, making his way over to you and stealing your shot glass for himself.

“Not quite the party when it’s just me drinking away my problems,” you barely joke with him, chuckling when he cringes at the alcohol flowing down his throat. He doesn’t bother with the lime. He was a seasoned drinker, need not for silly chasers. 

“Oh, but how I love you when you’re drunk,” he teases, but it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You steal your shot glass back from him, downing one more while he watches in silence.

“Don’t you- don’t you think the joking is a bit… I don’t know. Inappropriate?”

He only smiles, leaning back on the counter. “I  _ live _ for the inappropriate.”

“I’m being serious, Murdoc,” you deadpan, and he seems to notice.

“I’m aware.” He clears his throat, crossing his arms, fingers twitching.

“You don’t… You don’t feel the need to say anything to me?”

This makes him nervous, you can tell. Of course he won’t apologize. All the years you’ve known him, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him utter the word “sorry.” Maybe once.

“Look, Kaia. We don’t talk about the past.”

You can’t help your frustration. “But you told Stuart you-”

“You told me the same thing!”

His voice is loud when he snaps at you, arms flung into the air, and you pull back immediately. Don’t look at him. Don’t want to start a fight. But coming here meant closure. You needed closure. 

“I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing that night.”

His hands fall to his head, ruffling through his hair exasperatedly. “Neither did I,” he admits quietly. “You know why you’re here. And it’s not because of me.”

His words break your heart a little. But he’s right, isn’t he? An awkward silence falls over the two of you, and you finally look up to him. He isn’t looking at you, his eyes focused on the wall behind your back. Expression firm and unreadable. 

Your hand dramatically falls back to the bottle, not bothering to pour the shot before drinking straight from it, wincing as it burns your throat. You cough before handing it to him, eye contact strong and unwavering. He takes it, keeping your eyes as he downs some as well. He cracks a smile.

“Well, haven’t we been here before?”

You sigh with relief. “I believe we have.”

His hand quickly pushes the back of your head with force to his own, bumping your foreheads together clumsily. Laughter bubbles out of you as you take in the affection.

“I meant it.” He pauses, and you can sense his solemn smile. “And that’s all you gotta know.”

He pulls away, grabbing another shot glass from the cabinet above him, pouring you both another shot. You clink your glass with his and down it, before hearing Noodle shout from behind you.

“Doing shots without me? I’m so offended.”

“Hey, now. Aren’t you underage?” You joke, turning your attention towards her and holding your bottle protectively.

She taps her head. “Older than I appear, my friend.” She laughs as Murdoc steals your bottle to pour her a glass. She downs it just barely, coughing repeatedly once it's gone, making you both laugh.

A feeling of nostalgia washes over you as you take another glass from the cupboard, enjoying the company of your old friends.

“Two more!” the gravelly voice of Russel interrupts your thoughts. 

You refuse to make eye contact with 2D as you force yourself into the calm of their presence. Eventually, the five of you are drunk enough to not mind the tension in the air. To enjoy yourselves. Never get enough of that, it seems.

Maybe you’ll act more drunk than usual. Help you get away with more.

 

* * *

 

**May, 2000**

 

The news wasn’t at all surprising when you received it. You couldn’t count the number of times you had wished your old man dead and gone. To never bother you or those you loved ever again. But he was so good at doing just that.

You could feel the uncertainty in the eyes of your new-found friends. You didn’t seem fazed. They didn’t understand.

But, of course; how could they possibly understand?

_ "We regret to inform you that Dorian Spalding is under intensive care here at Addenbrooke's Hospital.” _

How were you supposed to react? Schedule a visit? Cry tears you didn’t feel real? Thank the people around you for looking at you like a kicked dog?

No, no. That wasn’t how you did things. You may hide, but you are certainly no liar.

Two days of nothing but silence from you. Waking up, going through the motions. Why were you affected but not affected at the same time? Was that even possible?

It seems to odd to you. Somehow, this man manages to fuck everything up even at the best of times. Around people you feel at home with, are willing to make a home out of. Happy with your job even if it isn’t what you wanted. Happy stealing kisses on a certain boy’s jaw when nobody's watching and giggling as he blushes. Happy reading the same three books over and over again to a small girl who barely understands what you’re saying. Happy sipping sodas and speaking unveiled thoughts about the universe with a man twice your size. Happy drinking with a man who hides certainly as much as you do.

But you walk around in a slump. Spoon cereal into your mouth at a silent kitchen table, though two others sit at it doing the same as you. One smokes, the other steals glances in your direction, visibly tense. His fingertips meet yours, pulling you out of your dissociative state. He doesn’t look at you when you look up to him. And you tense - so obnoxiously tense under his touch that you happily welcomed not even days ago. Force yourself to calm down. He is no threat to you, you must know that. 

You can’t show vulnerability.

You look back down to your cereal bowl, deciding towards it, pushing your hand farther underneath his own. It isn’t as reckless of a decision as your mind is convincing it to be. Your heart still races at the contact.

You get up from the table to use their phone in a separate room, dialing the number of the hospital you had tucked under the phone when they last called. A feminine voice picks up on the other end after two rings, and you ask how late their visitor hours are for. When she gives you their times, assuring you that you still have time to go up there and see him, you hang up without a thank you.

You stand with your back against the wall for a moment, hand coming up to rub at your temple. Was this a good idea for you? How long has it been since you’ve seen him?

“You okay?”

You look up to see 2D standing in the doorway, looking at you with furrowed brows. You barely smile at him. He hasn’t tried talking to you since Murdoc passed him on the news, which he heard from being the answerer of your phone in the first place. He would pass worried looks in your direction and try to smile sympathetically at you when your eyes met his. Lock fingers with you when you didn’t pull your hand away at his touch. 

Twice in the night he came into your camper to check in on you. Placed a cup of hot chocolate next to your bed per Russel’s request. Kissed your forehead softly when you pretended to be asleep. 

The boy was sweeter than you could have ever deserved to be treated. 

“Yeah, I just... “ The thought barely crosses your mind before you say the words. “Will you come with me? I want- I’m going to see my dad.”

He sighs inwardly, nodding his head. “Of course. When?”

“Um… now?”

His eyebrows twitch but he nods for you to follow him, and before you know it you're in his car giving directions to the hospital, a measly fourty-five minutes away.

“Is it, like, safe for you to drive?”

He chuckles from the driver's side, glancing at you. “I can see okay. Jus’ need glasses.”

A silence falls over you while your nerves ring in your head. He might see something you hoped nobody ever could. A whole different side of you, maybe. Another piece of your history. You hide those things. For years, you’ve done a damn good job at it. Alayna is the only one who knows your history. You figured she’d be it. Figured you wouldn’t ever find someone to share your stories with. Would never find a particular boy.

He makes you want to share the worst parts of you. How stupid of you.

A throat clears beside you. “So, are you- is he…”

You stare forward, watching the pavement disappear beneath you. “Yeah, he’s, uh… They said he’s having some kind of heart failure and won’t get a transplant in time or something. He doesn’t have insurance and can’t pay for it and- and whatever else. Merge left.” You pause. “He has a lot of issues. Runs in his blood. Doesn’t help that he has some not-so-good habits. At least, I’m sure he still does.”

A glance in your direction. “What’ya mean?”

“I haven’t, um, spoken to him. In years.”

His eyebrows raise at this. “If you don’t mind me asking; how many?”

You take a second to count it out. “Seven.”

You don’t particularly want to see his reaction, so you point your eyes out the window. 2D’s silent. Of course, he’s unsure what to say. As far as you know, he has a good relationship with his parents. Not as if he hasn’t seen this before. You had a suspicion at least one of his bandmates must have some kind of daddy problems.

“Turn right.”

He does as you tell him, and the hospital is suddenly in view. 

 

* * *

 

“Room 122. Down the hall and to the right. You can go in whenever.” A small brunette woman directs you with a smile. You nod nervously to her, ignoring the gnawing voice in the back of your head.  _ Don’t do it _ .

“Do you want me to stay?”

He looks as uneasy as you feel, his thumb pointing to the waiting area behind you. The answer doesn’t come. The corridor looks long. Unnervingly long. 

You can feel the jitter in your fingers. They reach out on their own accord and grab his. Your eyes stay locked onto his fingers laced with yours. Your heart rate speeds up. 

“Walk with me?”

He nods and squeezes your hand, leading the two of you down the hall. The air is uncomfortably heavy. 

What are you supposed to say?

You reach the door after a lifetime, and 2D lets go of your hand with a squeeze. You give him a look, which he meets with silent encouragement. His back leans up against the wall as you push open the door slowly.

What were you expecting? For him to be sitting on the bed smoking a cigarette? Looking ready with a shotgun? 

No. No, of course not. But not this. Lying on the hospital bed, tube in throat, eyes closed, withered and grey and… small. And you can’t remember him ever looking small. Fuck.

He’s unresponsive to your small steps inside his room. His tomb. A machine beeps steadily to the left of his body, keeping you aware of his heart beat. His life. Still in there, somewhere. Though he looks so far gone. 

You never thought you’d get the chance to see him like this. Never.

“You in there?” You voice comes out in a crack, and you clear your throat from the embarrassment. Even in his moribund state, he manages to scare you. 

“Of course you’re not.” You huff at him. And suddenly the anger boils up in you. 

“Never paid any attention to me, anyway, right?” A step towards his bed. Closer. Your hands shake and your heart races and you can feel the words vomiting through your throat but you don’t care. Fuck, you don’t care.

“It’s about damn time you ended up in your grave, I’d say. God, I wonder if she even knows you’re here. I hope she does. Hope she knows you’ve landed yourself in a fucking hospital. Killed yourself with your bad habits. God, and I bet you’re so happy with yourself, huh?”

Hands squeeze into fists, eyes water just beyond the edge. Can’t help it.

“You tried to ruin what I had. But I’m- I’m happy. Here. Have a job I enjoy. Though you tried to sabotage that. God, you are pathetic.” The words keep coming. Words, words, words. “At least… At least I’m doing something. Blame yourself for the shit you put me through. While you’re in your hospital bed.”

“I will never forgive you. You were never a father.” You wipe off the tears on your cheeks when they stop streaming. “You mean nothing to me.”

The machine beeps. Not steady. It erupts in a flare of sounds, and you stare forward, unsure what to do. Suddenly, there’s people rushing in, nurses with equipment, ignoring your presence, your head leaving your body. Can’t focus, can’t move. A hand grabbing your shoulders, pulling you backward.

“W-what- what’s happening?”

“He’s going into cardiac arrest.”

The nurses are taking him from the room in almost slow motion, and the arms pull you farther away, making you face the body they’re coming from. His black eyes search yours, speaking to you, but you can’t hear anything but the sound of the beeping, though it must be long gone. His hands cup your cheeks sending a spark through you, waking up your senses again.

“Hey, come on. Talk to me.” He sounds so desperate, and you can’t place why.

“I- I don’t…” The words don’t seem to come. No, they won’t. Fuck. “This was a bad idea.”

Your feet pick up speed down the hall, away from the disaster happening behind you, creating space. As much space as possible from him. 2D calls after you, but you move quickly. Foot in front of foot. Moving steady. Though you trip, it’s as easy as anything. As riding a bike. As jumping out of a helicopter.

He catches up with you in the elevator, though your straight stare must scare him out of speaking. A silent trip home, letting the cold May breeze sting your eyes through your rolled down window. 

Arrive home silent, though he pulls you into a mind numbing hug, assuring you if you need him that he’s there. For you.

And you think of how naive he must be. He’s suffered heartbreak before. But in an entirely different situation. Not from the likes of you.

Night falls silently over the house. And, fuck, you can’t sleep. Hours and hours of staring at the ceiling and downing beer bottles like shots, trying to think of something, anything to describe what you’re feeling or how to fix what isn’t even wrong. Where are you? How did you end up here?

It’s a pitiful journey to put yourself on; one that you know for a fact has no answers and shows no sympathy. Everyone else gets to live relatively normal lives. But you… no, you don’t get off so easy. 

Who the hell do you have to thank for that? Well, you could take a wild guess.

A look to your right reads  **3:09 AM**. Whatever the case may be, all you know is that you need to get out of your head. Quick.

You feet lead you out of your trailer and into the house you’ve so flippantly considered home lately. Up stairs, down long corridors painted in dark purple, until you reach a cracked door. Familiar. It makes your stomach stir. You try your hardest to welcome the feeling.

You push the door open, and though it creaks it doesn’t seem to stir the body laying on the mattress, limbs flung in every direction, looking strangely peaceful. You emerge from your silence, pushing a hand across his forehead and whispering.

“2D. Hey. Wake up.”

He just so lightly stirs, eyes ghosting up to see you. He takes in a sharp breath through his nose, concern flushing his features. 

“What? Is everything okay?” His voice is sleep ridden but almost breathtaking in the strangest way.

“Let’s go on a roadtrip. Just for tonight. Come with me.”

He only blinks at you, eyes wide so suddenly, but he nods nonetheless, and the nerves fade ever so slightly. 

You take his hand with a leap, a wild smile on your face, and he struggles to grab clothing while you hurriedly rush the two of you out of his room. Out of Kong Studios, out of town.

He sits in shotgun, watching you almost nervously if not certainly uncertain. What could you possibly be up to? 

“Where exactly are we going?” 

You throw him a smile. It feels entirely fake, but it’s a persona. You’ll keep it as long as it keeps you sane. “One of my favorite spots in the city. Well, not the city. That’s kind of the point. If that makes any sense.”

He doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but you can’t be bothered to care. He followed you out here when you asked him to. That’s enough for you.

You pull off the main road, following the directions you know by heart. “You know, I love the city. And all of the older buildings and the things that are run down and unloved. But I found this spot a couple years ago when I met Alayna. She showed it to me. Said she comes here whenever she’s feeling lost. There’s some kind of altered reality when there. Like nothing is real. Just you and the moon.”

You can sense that he’s relaxed at your words, and it calms you as well. Remember that things are only real if you make them real. Maybe a shitty way to avoid most problems, but it’s the way you’re doing it tonight. Just tonight.

Eventually, you’re pulling down a dirt road, leading to an empty field. Tall grass surrounds your trailer as you pull off road and straight through it.

That is, until the grass stops and you reach the clearing, almost as if some kind of crop circle was left. Nothing ever grew here, and you never knew why. But it cut you off from everything around you. No lights for miles but the stars overhead. And you loved every second of it.

“We’re here? In the middle of nowhere?”

You smile at him once more, nodding. “It appears that way, my friend.”

The two of you exit your trailer, and you lead the way a bit further down to the center of the circle. Lay down to stare up at the sky, and the boy next to you follows suit. 

“Quite the roadtrip, I’d say.” He chuckles just slightly, looking over at you for reassurance.

You look back at him, but your smile fades. “Look,” you start, breathing deep, “I’m sorry about today. If you… If you heard anything.”

There are cicadas and crickets all around you, calming you for the time being. You are in control of your emotions.

“No, I- I wanted to be there.” A pause. “I’m sorry.” You can’t seem to find it in you to tell him it’s okay, because you know very well that it isn’t. “I didn’t,” he clears his throat, “I didn’t know. About. You know.”

About the shitty relationship you had with your old man. Of course. How could he?

It’s quiet between you, though you can feel his eyes on you. Your pull up to the stars, searching for something, anything. Find some kind of answer. For a question you can’t even formulate to ask. Your eyes feel heavy at the thought. Your past on display for someone new. 

And maybe it’s time. If now isn’t, then when?

“You know, I-”

You cut yourself off. Will you do this? Open up? For what?

Your chest lifts and falls with certain emotion, and you pick up. 

“I grew up somewhere just- just so shitty.” Your voice is rough and scratchy from barely speaking the last few days, contrasting from the calm environment surrounding you. “My dad, he…” You can feel his eyes on you, though his head faces towards the sky. 

“He sold drugs. Nothing wild, but… He put my mother and I in jeopardy more than once. Went to jail more than once. Had us cushion his fall and bail him out more than once.” The tears threaten to spill, so you let them. Your voice doesn’t waver. “My mom wanted so much for me. For the three of us. And I remember-” A bitter smile paints your lips, “I remember her staying up all hours of the night in her bakery downstairs just making the smallest decorations on her cakes because it distracted her from everything. And I would come down when I couldn’t sleep, which was more often than I’d liked, and she’d have me measure out these ingredients to make my own self-titled cupcakes. My mom made the stupid recipe and said it was what she thought I would be as a cupcake. And I giggled because I thought it was so cute, making myself into a cupcake, but-” He’s no longer looking at you, but you see the glimmer in his eyes from your peripheral vision. And your voice wavers. “I was orange sugar. Orange because I was like citrus; strong, sharp. If too much citrus was added it would be bitter. And I was a bullheaded kid. Just like that.

“And I was sugar. Sweet, lovable… And I was needed. For everything she did.”

You slow your breathing to calm yourself down. The tears stop flowing but you don’t bother wiping the excess away. Stains to remind you. 

“She needed me. And I let her down. Time after time after time. My dad, he,” a pause. Too long. Long enough for him to know what’s coming next. “He beat her.” You curse yourself for being weak as your voice cracks. “And he would never do it when I was around. No, he wouldn’t mess up like that. But to think I didn’t  _ know _ . He was stupid. So  _ incredibly  _ stupid. To think I wouldn’t see it on her skin or in her eyes when she walked away from him as he left every night. But what did I do?” Another pause. You hate the truth. “ _ Nothing _ .”

Breath after breath. “Not until it reached me. She got a restraining order, I got on a plane. He came with me, but I got emancipated. Didn’t get to go to the college of my dreams, didn’t get to live the life I wanted to live, became estranged with the one person in my life who- who needed me-” A sob wracks through your body, and you let it come. His arms immediately wrap around your frame as he pushes your head into his chest. And you told the truth. 

His hands stroke your hair far after the crying has stopped. His arm lays protectively around you as you listen to his heartbeat somewhere in his neck. Let yourself be comforted. Let yourself be stupid. 

And it hits you. You’ve been trying too hard to build up walls that don’t matter. Because for some reason, he brings out some side of you you thought was buried along with every broken memory. You look up at him, his eyes falling down to yours, at least you assume so. He’s the color of the night, and everything about him screams ‘give in.’ The fall can’t be so bad.

Not if it’s already happened.

You lean in, lips meeting softly. There’s passion in it, even with the barely-there contact. His hand is on your cheek, pulling you in softly to kiss him again. You want to know him, touch him. 

Stupid girl.

He’s on top of you, gaining easier access to your lips, holding himself up while grazing down your exposed skin. He’s gentle, your fingers lacing in his hair and tracing down his back, and he sighs and melts into you with a small smile he tries to hide against your lips.

The sound of your heavy breathing mixes with the cicadas surrounding you, and there’s something serene about it. As if you were lying with the love of your life. And in this moment, it almost seems perfect. As he pulls up and looks down at you, eyes searching over your face and fogged with lust, he’s beautiful. Your fingertips drag over his face, studying his features, thumb falling over his protruding bottom lip. He weighs so comfortably on you, smiles so softly. A smile only meant for you. 

You’re transported to a world away. No longer care about the consequences. He can have you. Even if it’s just for now, you want to be his.

He wants to take care of you, fix you. In some other world, maybe that would be possible. So that’s the world you’re in. For tonight.

His lips meet yours again, in no hurry at all. A pleasant sigh escapes your lips as his own trail down your chin and neck, marking you with love bites all the while. 2D’s teeth sink into a particular spot, causing your back to arch which induces a grunt mixed sigh from him, his hips bucking into you. You indulge in the intrusion, nipping at his ear, earning a shaky breath in return. 

Your hands reach down to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up enough for him to get the hint. It’s thrown off of him in the next moment, hands splaying across his chest, admiring the bruises still lightly lining his rib cage. Your body is lifted from the ground, your first reaction to wrap your legs around his waist. He easily carries you into the trailer before carefully laying you onto your bed, crawling in between your legs. Your shirt is tossed away, his lips picking up from where they left off, kissing and sucking down your collarbone, hands delicately touching covered breasts. You soak it all in, a breeze from the open windows prickling your skin into goosebumps, as if his trailing hands hadn’t done so already. 

Your hands reach behind you, growing impatient, unclasping your bra. He smirks, pulling it off of you, admiring the view. He comes back down to kiss you, still as sweet and slow as before. You’re almost shocked at how calm he is, feeling yourself get more bothered by the second. You gasp into his mouth when fingers pinch around a nipple, pulling at each hardened bud individually, slipping his tongue momentarily into your mouth when it flies open. 

He pulls away, his mouth immediately meeting hot and wet against a nipple. This makes you moan, your hand clasping over your mouth, heat rising to your face. He breathes in deep, peeling your hand from your mouth. His face lights up in blush against the dark light, eyes never stopping their movements. He smiles, almost wicked, if he were capable of such a thing. 

Both of his hands interlace with yours, holding them down, going back to attacking your chest with his tongue, littering your skin with hickeys in the process. He was holding back, you could tell; biting back groans and softly rutting himself against the mattress.

He’s kissing down your stomach, against your exposed thighs from beneath the seam of your shorts, making you squirm. He holds your hips down with a tight grip, fingers digging into the soft skin, making you whine. He sucks harshly on your inner thigh, and it’s hard to contain the whimpers, the ceaseless squirming. His tongue traces over each mark when he’s finished, easing away the pain. 

He breathes heavily as he sits up, undoing his belt buckle, and the sight makes your stomach drop. Flush in your face, as if it weren’t there before, hands racing for your own button and zipper, sliding the shorts off yourself easily. 

He looks you up and down, taking in the practically naked figure in front of him, and you can see his hard-on through his jeans. The boy is mesmerizing. Your hand reaches up to his side to press lightly on a bruise, which forces a groan from his mouth. His belt off, but hands holding onto your shoulders as he stands, pushing yourself so your legs dangling off the edge of the bed. 

Your lips attach to the green and yellow bruised skin, sucking harshly, and he almost doubles over, yelping at the sensation. His hands help him balance, one of them finding refuge in your hair. You return the favor of leaving hickeys around his skin, your hands shakily finding the button and zipper of his jeans, popping them open slowly. To tease him or yourself? Who even knows.

You decide on a whim, hooking your fingers under the waistband of both his jeans and briefs, pulling them down in one swift motion. He gasps. You try not to focus on it. Keep your lips connected with the skin on his stomach, below his navel, the jutting bones from his hips, leaving marks in your wake.

Your lips meet just barely with the base of his dick, and you hear his breath catch in his throat. The grip he has on your hair tightens, and you sigh hotly onto his skin. Your lips meet in sloppy kisses around the base and up the side before licking up the underside. Wonder how long it’s been since you’ve done this and actually genuinely wanted to. You would comply for your lovers, but very rarely did you find yourself craving it. Feels incredibly dirty; the bobbing and obscene sounds it makes. And yet, your lips wrap happily around his head, licking up the precum without complaint, listening to a whole new side of this man you never thought you’d be able to hear. He’s loud, seemingly incredibly sensitive, and you drink up every moan. 

Your head sinks down, taking him into your throat, 2D’s hips bucking into you and his voice cracking. The scene is incredibly lewd, but you can’t find yourself caring. The way his fingers pull sharply on your hair get you drunk in such a fantastic way. If anybody were to come find your trailer in the middle of nowhere, they would most certainly hear and know exactly what was going on inside.

You whine when he pulls you off of him. He’s left panting heavily, kicking his pants the rest of the way off and pushing you farther back onto the bed, climbing over you, kissing at already sore spots on your neck. He slides down your panties. Mentions that he’s scared he won’t be able to control himself, making your temperature rise at the thought.

His fingers meet your clit, softly rubbing in circles, watching you for reactions which he easily receives. His lips fit comfortably into the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“You’re beautiful, love.”

It’s just a whisper, bringing heat to your face and a soft moan from your throat. And, God, his voice…

“Stu, I- I need you.” Your voice sounds desperate even to you. It's been so long since you've felt this way. So used to strangers in bars to the occasional fuck with Jamie, but that's just what it was: a fuck. Not like this, not at all. Memorizing the way his skin feels under your palms, listening intently and drinking in every sound he makes, taking it slow enough to drive you mad. You want to make him feel good, want him to remember you. 

His fingers slip away from you. You're left waiting for his next move which comes quickly, pressing the head of his cock into your heat, the both of you groaning in unison at the sensation.

You barely think of protection, stopping his ministrations quickly, searching the bedside counter for a condom. You’re on the pill, yes, but you refuse to let yourself be worried and ruin this experience. You find one in record speed, ripping the wrapper off with your teeth just like your friends taught you in college. You slide it easily onto him, smirking all the while, and he seems to relish in the attention. Soon enough, you're back where he started, 2D pushing himself into you painfully slow.

The filling sensation makes you groan, which leaves a shiver down 2D’s spine. He can barely control his own sounds, crushing his teeth together and seething as your warmth envelops him in the most delicious way. When he’s buried deep, he kisses you, sloppy and wet, biting onto your bottom lip and eliciting a yelp. His tongue finds its way into your mouth easily as he pulls out and pushes back in, attempting to silence his own noises to lessen the blush on his features. 

But you relish in it, pulling his face away from yours and looking into his ocean eyes, your hips bucking to meet his own as they come back to you again and again. He pushes slowly against you, your skin meeting him in every spot as if bound together. Goose bumps raise against your skin despite the burning heat of it all, squeezing your eyes shut to savor the moment. Your ragged breathing mixes with his, his forehead pressed securely against your own, his pace increasing with impatience. 

His hands grope at your sides, wherever they find your skin, memorizing the shape of your curves. You pay him the same attention, allowing your fingers to not-so-gracefully pepper his back with scratches, eliciting the most delicious sounds from him. It’s so different and beautiful in every possible way. Sharing a moment with someone who feels like more than a lover. You thought it’d be forever until you felt something like this.

His lips lock onto yours in a series of quick, messy kisses, curses and groans leaving whenever you separate. It’s hard and erratic and it makes your toes curl, your fingers wrap deep into his skin, stopping only at the feel of his ribs beneath them. 

“I’m… close,” you mutter between his kisses, and his lips immediately attach to your neck with a nod and a hand reaching up to grab at your breast. And it’s almost too good to handle, stimulation on every inch of your skin, his arm slipping underneath you to pull you closer, closer, though there is no closer. It’s all you want; him, as close as possible, beautiful blue hair just out of view and tickling under your chin as his teeth sink into your shoulder. 

It’s terrifying, giving yourself to him with a last cry of his name on your tongue, as delicious as the first kiss. He kisses you again, swallows your moans before losing his own breath, muscles seizing alongside your own. Mouth open against yours, light sheen of sweat covering both of you, positively lewd, but it wracks through you like nothing you’ve ever felt. Not casual, not meaningless, not some fuck. But something. Something  _ more _ .

He catches his breath slowly, harsh breaths mingling with your own. Your eyes open to meet his, half-lidded with a creeping smile as they meet your own. His lips meet yours in a barely-there kiss, but your nerves erupt anyway. You adore the feeling of his skin beneath your fingers.

He barely slips away from you, his arms protectively pulling you into him as he falls onto his side, his lips pressed against your sweat covered forehead. You almost tense before reassuring yourself, allowing your head to rest on his chest, listening to his breathing slow. His hands rake through your hair lightly, your fingers dancing in slow circles along his skin. You don’t care about the mess or the chill in the air where his arms don’t reach. You don’t care about anything else. Nothing exists in this moment but the rise and fall of his chest.

And you want to say something, but it feels too heavy. Words simply aren’t enough. So you don’t bother with them. 

You've done enough talking for one night. Let the cicadas speak for you.

 

 


	7. Attachment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can’t even bother to hear the rational side of yourself that must know you’re over thinking it. Any sign of panic is met with bitter aftertaste of whiskey or vodka, whichever you can find around. Yeah. Yeah, you need to get out of here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my GOD this is so overdue.
> 
> I won't bother with excuses cause really it's just that I didn't feel like writing. But, hey, I started college, so that's cool. And I am somehow still determined to finish this story no matter what.
> 
> This is the worst stuff to write, and it's only gonna get worse, so I'm hopin' I can power through it. writing sucky stuff just sucks ya feel?
> 
> But hey! hope y'all enjoy, and please leave comments if you're still with me, cause that's a real hard part of being inconsistent omg.   
> also, i did not proof-read this cause i was so done with it by the time i finished writing, so i'm hoping for no errors. 
> 
> still love all of you <3 pls enjoy

On May 15, 2000, Dorian Spalding was declared dead. And, no, the news wasn’t at all surprising when you received it.

You can’t even remember the last words you said to him anymore. Part of you regrets it. Wishes you could stew over them for days or months or even years. But it’s almost as if the one-way conversation never happened in your memories.

Probably for the best. You remember the scene well enough to know that you spoke unkindly. To say the least, anyway.

Not as if the man didn’t deserve it. And, yet, the whole situation left an unsettling feeling in your stomach. No scores settled. No bones broken. No closure.

The one thing you so desperately crave.

A boy in glasses glances up at you over a book, a look of curiosity painting his face. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking back. Even still, you can’t help the small smile that crosses your lips as you take a sip of your hot chocolate and Bailey’s.

“That’s just not the point, man.”

“Yes, it is. More songs, more pay off.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do? Pull some songs out of our asses?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I suggest you do.”

Manager meetings. You hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Damon before today, and you weren’t sure how you felt about sitting in on something you weren’t technically a part of. Sure, you slid in on one of Murdoc’s writing sessions and helped him out on a few melodies. Sang some backing vocals on a few tracks. It was nothing major. You weren’t a part of the band, no. But for some reason, you were still included.

Another sip of hot chocolate and your head is spinning. Maybe you poured in too much Bailey’s.

“Oh, fuck off, Damon.” Murdoc gets up with a wave of his hand.

Damon stands in defense. “Come on, don’t you ‘fuck off’ me! I’ve been in the business for years, you haven’t released shit!”

Noodle sways beside you, a beat in her head, her eyes closed. Peaceful amidst the craziness always ensuing around her. She’s too young to be here, and yet. Yet, she fits.

You put a hand over her shoulders, protectively pulling her into your side. She sighs as she leans into you. Probably a bit past her bedtime at this point. The digital clock reads  11:09 .

“He got a point there, man,” Russel mumbles.

“Then it’s your bloody album to write.” And unsurprisingly, Murdoc’s gone.

Damon plops down on the chair behind him, rubbing at his forehead. 2D glances around the room over the rim of his glasses, still as silent as when the meeting started. You knew what he was working on. You hear it in the middle of the night when you wake from sleep on his bedroom floor. How many nights in a row, now?

He never finishes anything, simply letting out frustrated sighs and turning off his software with a huff. Starting over something new every night.

You were good at that, too.

You can’t help but notice when he clears his throat, dropping the book to the coffee table. With his face fully in view, your eyes fall straight to the purple marks surrounding his collar. And, well, you’re not the only to notice them.

He stands, much like a baby deer with his over-sized legs, keeping his eyes downcast and hands in his jean pockets.

Damon and Russel look at you as he leaves the room. You stare at the floor, twitching your fingers nervously on Noodle’s back. They must know. At this point, it has to be obvious.

There was nothing to know. Soon enough, you’d get out of their hair.

Damon sighs, standing and packing up his bag. “I’ll be back next week. I expect progress.”

He says a goodbye to Russel and looks to you like he wants to say it was nice meeting you, but decides against it.

And, sure. You wouldn’t particularly enjoy meeting yourself, either.

“You wanna tuck in Noodle?” Russel asks, and you nod and give him a smile in goodnight. He’s gone, and it’s just you and the girl.

“Come on, kid. Let’s get you to sleep.”

You shake her a little, but she doesn’t move. She looks light enough, so you decide on picking her up bridal style.

It’s a long journey up the stairs and down some corridors and to her room, which is dimly lit with Chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Makeshift night-lights.

You slide the covers over her peaceful form, running a hand through her hair. Suddenly, you feel guilty. You never meant to stay, never meant to get attached.

But, no, it’s not the time to get melodramatic. You’ll be gone soon enough, back to your sheltered four walls. Your work was done with them a while ago, anyway.

You’ve overstayed your welcome.

You give Noodle a kiss on her head.

Closing her door gently behind you with a flick of the light switch, you wander down the corridors with some clear intention, even if you wouldn’t admit that to yourself.

When you reach his door, it’s open halfway, beats emanating from where you find him sitting on the floor. He watches you wander in slowly from the rim of his glasses, looking around at the mess he made since you last cleaned up. Amazing, you think; men have complete disregard for their personal environment.

He  goes back to his task while you sit down next to him, watching him closely as he fidgets with his equipment, clicking furiously.

The marks under his collar uncover themselves, and you lose your breath for a moment.

The ones on the left side of his neck are from a night you remember clearly. Your arm held firmly behind your back, head pressed into the mattress. The more experimental you got, the less control he had over himself. You found bruises on your thighs and ass, lovebites all the way from your neck to your inner thighs. You lose yourself every time you think of it. And, well, it was hard not to think of it.

You reach out on impulse to press against one of the bruises on his neck, tracing around it with your fingers. His breath hitches in his throat, eyes squeezing shut on contact.

“Thas still sore..” he trails off. And, yeah, yours are, too.

He turns toward you with tired eyes, and you crawl into his lap easily. His hands immediately go to your hips.

It’s almost too easy to go through the motions.

Your hands reach for his hair, which is slightly greasy but soft, nonetheless. He eyes you up, the expression on his face is familiar. Concerned.

You kiss him before he says something, because, no, you don’t want to hear it. Not again. You’ve spent too many nights drunk, he says. Because of Dorian. But, no. It meant nothing to you. But he doesn’t know you well enough. He doesn’t know you.

He kisses back, but is hesitant, almost pushing you back. He pulls away, telling you to wait, hold on.

“Hold on what?” You pout, and you can see the small smile he tries to cover. “Yeah, what I thought.”

You go back in for another kiss, almost falling forward trying to push him onto his back, but he lands on his keyboard, which erupts in a loud beat, scaring you.

“Sorry, sorry, ah-” He scrambles to turn it off, but you stop him with a hand around his feeble wrist.

“Wait. I’ve heard this one.”

“Huh?” He blinks at you.

“You’ve played this. In the middle of the night. I’ve heard it.”

His face turns red as you climb off his lap, turning the dial to hear the tune better. And, yeah, this is definitely the one. It sounds even better when you’re not half asleep.

“Yeah, I’ve jus’ been fumblin’ ‘round with this one. A- a few, I guess.”

“Yeah? I mean, it’s got potential, Stu.”

He lights up. “Yeah?”

You give him a smile. “Yeah. Any melodies?”

“Yeah, I- I’ve got something.” He fumbles around with the papers strewn across the floor, looking for his sheet music. “Don’t know how to finish it up, though.”

“Feels melancholy,” you state, and he nods along to the beat.

“Here,” he says, playing another beat he must have previously recorded. Less intense, but still missing something. “I’m thinking something like-” he breaks into a slur of unfinished words with a tune that matches the beat perfectly. His voice is smooth, and you can tell the beat pulls him in. Someone born to make music.

“You need-” you start, swapping through instruments to play over his beat, before settling on cello. You play a tune for him to hum to, and his face lights up.

“Yeah, yeah-” He watches your fingers and memorizes the pattern, recording a separate track with the cello added. You listen to it back, and he smiles widely, mumbling to himself.

“It’s great,” he says excitedly, before getting up to grab an acoustic guitar off the wall. “I have another part. It’s just puttin’ them together.” He yawns as he sits, blinking a few times to regain his focus. “It’s not a lot, but, jus’ a tune.”

He plays it, two chords simply. It sounds sad as he sings his tune, this time with words, “gravity”.

“Yeah, okay,” you tell him, taking his keyboard and watching him play. You start the beat almost suddenly, but something about it sounds right. He keeps playing his guitar, some minor chords that mix well. “It should, like, tune out. Then into that verse.”

He nods, putting the guitar down and scooting to your side to mess with the keyboard, switching through tracks back to the cello mix, and laughs a little.

“Here, I’ll mix it.” He starts fidgeting with chords and the beats, and you watch him closely once more. In his habitat. Almost something beautiful about the way his brain switches on and off, completely coming to life in his music.

You lean over, giving his shoulder a kiss. Like you long for it. He’s so involved he barely notices, so you get up to leave him to it. Glad to know you helped. Somehow. You make your way into his adjacent bathroom, barely closing the door behind you.

You look sad in the mirror. Eyes bloodshot. How much sleep have you gotten lately? Too many nights spent on the bathroom floor or sitting up on kitchen counters drinking with someone, whoever it was. Alayna, talking about some guy she was going on dates with. Russel, and the underground riots he was attending. Murdoc, sometimes about his broads, sometimes up singing songs, sometimes fixing his bloody noses from the pimps he pissed off in the bar.

And, yeah, entire nights spent off your face searching for some peace in this haunted place.

Attachment is dangerous.

You can’t even bother to hear the rational side of yourself that must know you’re over thinking it. Any sign of panic is met with bitter aftertaste of whiskey or vodka, whichever you can find around. Yeah. Yeah, you need to get out of here.

If solitude has kept you safe for so long, then it must not be that crazy.

All the fun you can get when drunk, but what will you do when your sober? It’s been so long since you could last see straight, you can’t even remember.

You splash water on your face, rubbing your tired eyes.

Open the medicine cabinet, not so surprisingly met with a load of prescription bottles. You glance over a couple of them, covered in complicated names you couldn’t pronounce if you tried.

You reach in and grab a bottle, opening it and throwing two back, swallowing dry. Pocket the bottle. Doubt he’ll notice.

You leave his room, giving him one last look while he writes, not noticing you. He used to be so calming when you first met. Like you could trust him could open up. Barriers work there way back up, though. The sight of him is more nerve-wracking than anything, now.

You find your way to the lounge, which is deserted and reeks of men. Since Dorian’s death, Murdoc has held off on throwing parties. You weren’t sure if it was coincidence or not. The parties did technically have reason with the launch of music video work. Guess there just isn’t any reason to celebrate anymore.

You go to the cabinets, in search of a bottle. Most of them are half-broken, empty, or cheap. You sigh.

“Looking for something?” A voice startles you. You turn to see Murdoc standing in the archway, swinging a bottle of Captain Morgan from his fingertips. You make your way over with a smile, easily stealing it from him.

You take a seat on the sofa, downing a rough mouthful.

“Yeah, that’s gotta be real healthy,” he mutters, still smirking at you.

“Hey, now,” you interject, “I say nothing about your living habits.” He chuckles. “I mean, seriously. This place smells like a locker room.”

He takes a seat in an armchair adjacent to you, and you pass his bottle back to him.

“You know what we need? A womanly touch.” He gestures to you with a sip of his drink.

“Wow. Sexist much.”

“Oh, never, dear. I just don’t care much for cleaning.”

You smile. “Well, cleaning is not really my strong suit. Always had to clean up back home cause my dad was- well, the mess.”

Word vomit.

His expression barely changes, though you can see his eyebrows raise slightly as he stares at his hands. “Yeah, I, uh… I feel that.”

You furrow your eyebrows, but decide against saying anything. When you look at him, he looks contemplative. Your head screams “perfect photo opportunity,” but you let it pass. Probably not the time. Not like the way your vision is swirling would help you any with your photography skills.

“What made you do this?” you ask. He looks questioning, so you elaborate. “Music. I mean, are you just doing it to take over the world or do you do it for the music? You wrote some really good tracks for this record,” you ramble, “I mean, with obvious help from yours truly-” he chuckles, “seems a waste of talent if you’re only doing it for the superficial.”

He shakes his head, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You sound a bit too much like an interviewer.”

“Probably get it from Jamie. He’s got those personable skills.”

He rolls his eyes at that, which makes you laugh a bit. “I’ll tell ya,” he says, looking up at you with another swig. “My father was a real wanker. Used to have me win ‘im drinking money by doing these bullshit talent contests. Absolutely humiliating. I’m in the middle of singin’ ‘I’ve Got No Strings’ when I think, ‘I’ve got fuckin’ nothing but strings’, eh? I swore from that day on, I would never take shit from anyone. Be my own musician for my own reasons. Wreak havoc on the ones that dressed me up and played me like- like some dullard.”

“Take over the world.”

He nods at you. “Simple as that.”

You try to smile at him but he casts his eyes down, taking sips with no reaction.

“I mean, can’t say I’m out for revenge, but- but if I was, that’d be a pretty damn brilliant plan.”

He looks back up at you. “What about your old man?”

You shake your head. “Never wanted revenge. Just- closure, I guess. Or just to get away from him.” You pause. “Forget he exists.”

“Got that wish, huh?”

It isn’t filled with anger, though it forces a bitter laugh to leave you. A hand comes up to run through your hair, tangled and tired. Yeah. Yeah, you did.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you tell him. And he shrugs like, yeah, okay. He won’t be.

You start again. “I’m wondering - and this is by no means an invitation - why are you being nice to me?” You give him a look. “I mean, you haven’t tried getting into my pants the last few weeks. Isn’t that, like, weird for you?”

He chuckles, as if he knows something you don’t. “Wondering why you aren’t being hit on more? An odd thing for a woman like you to suggest.”

You shrug, but you really can’t help but wonder. “I don’t know, just doesn’t seem like you from all I’ve heard. And experienced. Or, who knows, maybe I’m just that incredibly vain.”

“Seems unlikely.” He shakes his head, taking a gulp from his bottle, still smiling like you’re the most naive soul he’s met. “I’ve done some shit things to this band. Trying not to recreate disasters. Can’t take over the world if all of your band members leave, eh?”

It doesn’t seem to answer your question, and he can sense your confusion, so he elaborates. “What are you, dense? You and ‘D.” Oh. “It isn’t hard to see.” He takes another drink.

“No, I… It isn’t- it can’t…” you trail off, but he somehow understands exactly what you’re saying.

He leans forward in his seat and looks at you seriously. “Yeah, yeah. Been there. People like you and I… think we’re better off alone.” He pauses. “But whatever it is that the kid sees in you, well, he really believes in it.”

Your heart drops, and you can’t keep his gaze.

“I didn’t want that,” you tell him.

“No, but it’s what you got. An’ you can’t tell me you don’t  _ love  _ it here.” He leans back. “Could be good for you. Believe me, if I could get out of my head for more than five minutes, I’d realize how-” he cuts himself off, staring off. Let his guard down. He would refuse to do that. He lets out a bitter laugh. “How…  _ bloody  _ lucky I am to have found them.”

You look at him for a moment, before getting up to steal his bottle, almost empty. You down half of what’s left before he flinches to steal it back, but you fumble backwards, laughing as he almost falls forward.

“Never knew how big of a pussy the devil ‘imself was,” you mock him, which he matches with an evil smile.

“You tell anyone anything, I’ll deny it ‘till the grave.” He holds a hand over his heart, swearing on whatever nonexistent representation of his organ is left.

You swallow down the last bit of his bottle, grimacing as it burns it's way down your throat. He puts a hand on your shoulder to stabilize you, stealing his rum back, only frowning when he sees there’s none left for him.

He smiles at you, and all you can smell is the stench of alcohol that follows his movements. “You could be here. Live like a  _ God _ . Be one of us.”

He seems genuine. And you wonder really how many people have seen this side to him. Maybe you’re it.

You smile back to him, though you know your face looks like some sloppy drunk, but then again, so does his. “No… No, I can’t.”

He shrugs, his hands falling from your shoulders. “Suit yourself.”

You almost pull away when he leans toward you, but all he does is pull your face to really look at him. You stand, silent for a moment. Let your vision fall into place.

This has to be it. Tomorrow, you’re gone.

“The offer still stands, love,” he tells you, reeking of rum. But it feels intimate. Like he’s trying to tell you something he couldn’t say aloud.

“Thanks, Muds.” And you’re quiet.

He takes another moment before disconnecting his cracked hands from your face. He looks you up and down before ruffling your hair, as if you were a child, and stumbling off in the direction of the elevator.

You find yourself laying down on the floor in no time, watching the ceiling spin. Whatever he sees in you… It just isn’t real. He’ll realize that soon enough.


	8. A Touch Only Meant for Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many days has it been since you’ve spoken? Maybe a week. You answered his calls at first, but as he had to pull back for work, you did, as well. His calls became infrequent. You figured that maybe it wouldn’t be as big a deal as you made it out to be in your head. But when his workload lightened up, he called again. And again. And you’ve forgotten what it feels like to break up with someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hellooo!! shit is about to go DOWN my dudes.
> 
> i've had the ending to the next chapter written since i started this series, and i'm very excited for it.
> 
> also, your comments give me so much life and inspiration to keep writing. on that last chapter, especially, you guys really showed some love, and i am eternally grateful. seriously. hope you enjoy this next one, and sorry for the infrequent updates. finals are this week, so i'm procrastinating studying by writing, so i'm at least doing something productive lol. 
> 
> love you guys, enjoy!

**June, 2000**

 

Your head lays loosely in the palm of your hand as the other stirs absentmindedly at the tea in front of you. The steam hits your face in small wisps, and it's trying it's hardest at calming. Alayna set it in front of you, barely passing you a concerned glance. And, yeah, okay. It makes sense that she would be annoyed. Your living arrangement is fairly new, and you haven’t exactly been reliable. At least you’ve got steady income, now. Not to mention when the music videos come out, you’ll be making some profit. Getting checks from Murdoc was almost patronizing, but it’s just a simple business transaction. You know that.

_ He hands you an envelope, hand in his pocket, nonchalant. _

_ What’s this?” _

_ “Payment. I know we’ve been skimping ya, so this is makin’ up for it. Plus, Damon liked those pictures you were takin’. He wants to use ‘em. Buy ‘em off ya. That’s, uh, that’s the amount.” _

_ You scrunch your eyebrows. He wants your pictures? _

_ You open the envelope easily, pulling out a check, dark grey and elegant, made out to Kara Spalding. In the order of - oh, wow. Six thousand pounds. His handwriting was messy, but you couldn’t be wrong. Four zeros. _

_ As you look back up at him, his expression is neutral. _

_ “M-Murdoc, I... Um-” _

_ “Don’t worry about it. I thought he’d like ‘em. All that marketing shit. Gives us a flare, eh?” _

_ You stare at the check. You’d have given those pictures away for free. He must know that. He must. _

_ He passes you, then, with a solid pat on the shoulder and nothing more. _

_ Nothing more than six thousand fucking pounds. _

The check sits on the kitchen counter, uncashed, mocking you. You’ll get to it eventually. Soon. Yeah, soon.

Alayna strides back into the kitchen, coffee cup in hand, sitting across from you at the breakfast nook, leaning herself on the counter. She looks at you calculatedly, taking a drink from her cup. You feel scrutinized under her gaze, so you finally take a sip of your tea.

“So,” she starts, “How are things going?”

General. Suspicious.

“Fine,” you reply, staring at your cup.

“Yeah?”

You look up at her, confused.

“You talk to 2D lately?”

You almost flinch. “Why do you ask?” Your voice almost breaks, but you keep it cool. Manage.

“No reason.” She pauses, hardly looking at you. “But he’s called the house a few times, you know.” Oh. Well, yeah. Forgot he had access to stuff like that. Your Nokia sits on your bedside table, untouched. No matter how many calls you got.

“Yeah, sorry.”

She sighs. “Don’t be sorry, Kara. He seems off-put. Like, he’s so close to just coming over here to see you because you aren’t picking up. Why- why aren’t you picking up?”

You run a hand through your hair. Try to avoid her stare. “I don’t know. Jobs over. I don’t have any reason to be over there anymore, you know.”

“I don’t think he’s interested in work.”

“Well, that’s not really my problem.”

“Well, maybe he just isn’t used to it, then. Maybe he doesn’t go around sleeping with everyone he works with.”

You look up at her. “Hey-”

“Hey, nothing! You owe that boy some kind of explanation! You don’t just get to drop off the face of the earth, Kara.”

“But, I- there’s no ‘ _ explanation _ ’-”

“So, what? What is it then? You got bored?” You sigh at her patronizing. “What? Are you depressed or something?”

“Or something,” you mumble.

She leans over the counter to make some kind of eye contact with you, and you hate it.

“Whatever it is, you have to fix it. You know, it’s not like I care if you’re breaking hearts, but it shouldn’t overlap like this. Tell him to fuck off, I don’t care.” She sighs. “Not like that kid deserves that, but- but you have to do something about it. Go to the bar, find a rebound. Whatever. Just fix it.”

“Okay, mom,” you groan at her.

She frowns at you. “I’m not yelling at you. He just- he’s sweet. And he’s worried about  _ you _ . Not about himself.”

“Sure know how to pick ‘em,” you mumble.

“Yeah, you fucking do.” She snaps at you. “Just stop it with the bullshit and be honest with him. Being moody and self-loathing isn’t doing anyone any favors.”

She’s gone, then. And right. Of course she’s right.

How many days has it been since you’ve spoken? Maybe a week. You answered his calls at first, but as he had to pull back for work, you did, as well. His calls became infrequent. You figured maybe it wouldn’t be as big a deal as you made it out to be in your head. But when his workload lightened up, he called again. And again. And you’ve forgotten what it feels like to break up with someone.

Thought maybe you could avoid it all together.

It’s not like you’re together, anyway, right? Nothing was ever established or official. Maybe he just misses the sex.

Seems unlikely.

_ He blinks up at you as you reach for your shirt, his eyes heavy and half-lidded. He looks gorgeous in his afterglow. _

_ His fingers around your wrist stop you from putting the fabric over your head. He simply looks at you. You chuckle, turning to face him. _

_ “What?” _

_ He smirks tiredly, moving to lay on his side. “Leave it off.” _

_ You can’t help the small sigh that leaves you. You crack a smile. “Like what you see, hm?” _

_ He chuckles deeply, nodding. His hand leaves your wrist to caress over your bare stomach. It’s gentle and reaffirming. A touch only meant for lovers. _

_ His fingers play at your ribs, which seem to be protruding far more now than they were when you first slept together. You wonder if he notices. His gaze is unreadable. _

You check the time.  4:06 PM

You don’t even know how the day gets away from you so quickly, and yet you wish it was night already.

You take another drink of your tea, playing with the tea bag string absentmindedly.

The camera is plainly perched on the kitchen counter, as untouched as your phone. You know you can’t do hobbies constantly; your artist eye would drive you crazy. But your heart leans towards it, so you give in. It’s been long enough.

You grab it from the counter with another gulp of your tea, slinging it around it's familiar spot on your neck, and grabbing a jacket.

With a swing of your keys, you’re out the door.

 

* * *

 

The air is crisp, even for mid-June, topping off at 70 degrees. You revel in it, loving the smell of the fresh air. You hold your camera protectively to your chest, gauging your surroundings for artistic opportunity.

The stone streets were basically pure art in your head; nothing was ever more beautiful than an old brick building or a street paved longed before your time.

Joy Division plays through your headphones as you walk through Colchester. The pavement is wet from the recent rain and it hits the back of your legs as you walk. A violin player receives a tip from a small girl in a bubble coat. Snap. A stream of water drips from an above pipe. Snap. A group of pigeons surround some discarded food on the sidewalk. Well, you do love pigeons.

Snap.

_ Crash. _

_ The radio is almost inaudible over the yelling voices filling the living room. _

_ Murdoc yells at 2D, calling him a wanker, accusing him of cheating. They told you Murdoc was a sore loser, but you suppose you never really know until you experience it for yourself. _

_ Noodle claps her hands in sync with her yelling, playing along to the scene in front of her. You watch them argue, not sure if you should laugh or intervene. The pieces of the game board lay scattered across the floor. _

_ You sigh as Russel gets up, taking himself to the counter-top where the radio plays. He fumbles around a bit with it  until you can hear smooth jazz ringing over the shouting. Russel smiles, swaying slightly to the beat. _

_ You make eye contact and he holds out a hand to you. To dance? You shake your head. No, dancing was not your forte. Russel had great rhythm. Not that you didn’t - you occasionally prided yourself in that. Having rhythm doesn’t necessarily make you a good dancer, though. _

_ He waves you over anyway, so you get up. When you make your way over to him, he immediately twirls you with his hand, making you laugh. His palm practically swallows your own when you face him, your other hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He takes the lead, and you find yourself smiling. You both sway together, and you notice the shouting letting up. You can hear Murdoc’s heavy footsteps leave the room. I mean, you hated Monopoly as much as the next guy, but that was a bit dramatic. Even for Murdoc. _

_ Russ spins you outward, and you almost trip backwards, running into a small girl who you didn’t see. _

_ “Me! Me!” She holds her arms up as she runs over to Russel. You laugh, looking over your shoulder to see 2D peeking his head over the couch cushions. He stares at you curiously. _

_ As you look back to Russel, Noodle is standing on his feet, still so short, dancing together. _

_ You make your way back to 2D, leaning on the back of the couch, watching the two dance. He places his chin on your shoulder, glancing at you you from the corner of his eye before turning his attention towards your friends. _

_ Friends. _

You wander into a crummy bar, taking stock of your surroundings. You consider that perhaps strangers in the bar at 5PM might not be too fond of another nobody taking their picture. You see a couple of opportunities; you love the solemn feel of solo pictures in an atmosphere like this. You follow your better judgement, though, tucking your camera into its carrier and making your way to the bar.

“Whiskey sour,” you say as the bartender approaches, to which she nods.

When your glass reaches you, you take a sip and play with the orange slice decorating it. Pretend you’re drinking as a pastime. As if it’s pretty.

A man slides into the seat next to you. “Whiskey sour. Classy.”

Click of the trigger.

You look his way with a sort of indifference. Attractive. Dark brown hair, five o’clock shadow. Perfect accent.

“Well, you know what they say,” you smirk at your glass, “the girls alone at the bar at 5 o’clock on a Wednesday are the classiest of all the broads.”

He grins at that, outstretching his hand. “Gavin.”

Temptation is so friendly.

Your hand reaches his own in a shake. You pause with a smile.

“Kaia.”


	9. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You take another look in the mirror, fogged from the smoke you blow into it. You look good. And you can’t help the tinge of anxiety that hits you when you think about a singular Gorillaz member being there. If one comes, who’s to say another won’t? Jamie reassured you more than once he wouldn’t show. And yet you dress up just in case. Impress him? Show him up? Make him jealous?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, your comments are far too kind and this chapter is far too overdue. your love keeps me going. <3
> 
> i've never done trigger warnings for any of my writing before, and i'm not sure if it's super necessary. please let me know if y'all want warnings!! there obviously won't be anything warranting an ao3 warning so like pls lemme know if you want 'em.
> 
> anyway, this is real long. and exciting. i knew how this chapter was gonna end and i've had it written for a while it was just the point of getting there.
> 
> Question: would any of you be interested in a murdoc fic? i have a whole story outlined but this story's gotta be finished before i really commit to it. i do have most of the first chapter done, though, and i've contemplated just posting it when i'm done. if anyone's into it, i'd love to know.
> 
> as always, enjoy the angst!

**July, 2000**

  


He lays comfortably on your bed, blanket perfectly placed over his naked hips, joint loosely hung between his lips. His fingers play at your own, running delicately over the slightly calloused skin. 

The room is filled with smoke,  _ Love Will Tear Us Apart _ playing on repeat from your boombox. You giggle at the way his lips pout while he sucks inward. He hands you the joint, which you happily accept. 

“You should come out with us tonight,” he offers. One of his friends is having a release party. Went from making music videos to being in them. Isn’t that the dream.

You blow smoke in his face, which he frowns at. “Mm, I don’t know.” You prop yourself up on your elbow, watching the embers glow at the end of the joint. Fascinating. “I’ve been out a lot this week. Maybe I should break.”

He steals the joint back for himself, dragging on it. Your neighbors were bound to complain of the smell, but you couldn’t care less. You’d been living here far longer than they have. When Alayna moved in, the landlord liked you even more. She had far more personable skills than you.

“It’ll be fun. Get out of your head for a night.”

“By going out and partying? Seems counterproductive.”

He smiles, eyes glossing over your bare torso. “Now, you know I don’t care for your poor habits. But with friends, I think it’ll be a far more positive experience. Plus, I hear Murdoc will be joining us.”

“Oh, so you can go home with him instead of me?” You tease, sucking in from the joint that he still holds in his unoccupied hand.

He gasps at you, grimacing. “Disgusting. I love Murdoc, but I would never sleep with him. God knows where he’s been.” You laugh at that, rolling over onto your back to stare at the ceiling. He rolls onto his side to look at you, placing the joint in your mouth for you. His hand brushes against your stomach, lightly tickling the skin. You giggle, freeing your mouth from the smoke it holds, your fingers smelling the worst of it. 

“Oh, how easily I give into you.” You smile as he does, coming in to kiss you.

Jamie was a good fuck, maybe even great. You would never share your weed with your other lovers, simple strangers who left as soon as they came.

Your mind still rushes with a thousand little things, but new lips drown out the noise a bit. Enough so it’s bearable. Pain replaced with pleasure. Ibuprofen for your emotional abuse.

You push his chest away. “Murdoc will be the only one there, correct?”

He rolls his eyes dramatically, flopping back onto his back next to you. “If it’s that important for you to say yes, yeah. He’ll be the only one there.”

He doesn’t pry. He never does. Arrangement is key in what you have with each other. Shoulder to cry on, shag when desired, no getting into the others business unless requested. It works. In ways, he’s like family. In other ways, not so much.

“And although I will not get involved, I would like to say I told you so.”

You shove him at that, laughing when he almost falls off the bed. He growls a bit, muttering an “ungrateful slut”, only riling you further.

“Excuse you?” You sit up to punch his arm, which he is unaffected by, only gripping your wrist and shoving you onto your back, pinning you down.

“No, no, no. Excuse  _ you _ .” His smile is bright and contagious, and you feel calm for a moment. If only for a moment.

His lips meet yours in the next split second, and it almost nauseates you. You push the feeling away, make it cease by sheer power of will. You go through the motions too easily, only barely ignoring the gnawing inside your head. 

Your head spins when a certain groan sounds too familiar. 

Push it away. 

  


* * *

  


Your body in the mirror curves in all the right places. Little black dress, skin tight, celebratory. Your fingers reach your lips for a drag of your cigarette. You put it out on the countertop, reaching for a different tube of mascara. 

Your hip bones protrude just the slightest bit, but the perk of your ass looks balances it out. The thought had occurred to you to maybe not go for a hookup tonight. And yet, your skin almost crawls at the thought of lying alone in your bed. 

One more application of mascara leaves your lashes looking full and fake and sweat-proof. You take another cigarette out of your pack. It hangs loose between your lips as you go looking for your purse. Dizziness hits you, unpleasant and familiar. 

Your purse sits half spilled on the hardwood floor, and you find your lighter to give you a last fix for the night. What a nasty habit to have. Breathe in and your senses dull.

You take another look in the mirror, fogged from the smoke you blow into it. You look good. And you can’t help the tinge of anxiety that hits you when you think about a singular Gorillaz member being there. If one comes, who’s to say another won’t? Jamie reassured you more than once he wouldn’t show. And yet you dress up just in case. Impress him? Show him up? Make him jealous?

There was nothing to be jealous of. The last conversation you had consisted of him accusing you of stealing his pain pills, to which you so barely defended. 

_ “So what if I did?” _

It’s so childish it makes you cringe. It makes you sick. He wasn’t accusatory. Well, maybe a little. But the concern in his voice. That’s what makes you sick.

You look away from your reflection, deciding that you got dressed up for yourself. No one else. You chug a mini bottle of water before stubbing your cigarette and descending the stairs with your purse in clutch.

Alayna sits in her blue jeans at the breakfast nook, drinking coffee and working on studiously on her laptop. She looks up as you spin on the floor, showing her the outfit with far too tall heels as accessory. 

She does mini claps for your attire. “You look fire, man! I love it!”

“Thank god,” you exclaim, “I was afraid it was too slutty.”

She laughs a little, though you can tell she’s slightly concerned. Not good at hiding it.

“You’re actually concerned with looking too slutty?”

You fake a hurt expression. “Yes, of course. I don’t know if the goal of tonight is really to take someone home.”

She nods. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with a little black dress.”

You smile at her as a car honks outside. 

“That’s gotta be Jamie.”

She yells you a ‘have fun!’ as you shut the front door behind you, Jamie honking at you for longer now that he sees you. You roll your eyes, sliding in when you reach the car. The night sky is just barely lit with the sun past the horizon. About 9:30, the party having started at seven. Nobody shows up that early, anyway.

“Well, don’t you just look delicious.” 

You flip your long waves towards him with a middle finger, directing your gaze in the opposite direction.

He laughs. “I’m gonna look too fly walkin’ in with such a hot date.”

You roll your eyes at him. 

“As if, pretty boy.”

The venue is dark and neon purple, a packed bar and packed dance floor, an electronic beat resonating through your chest the second you walk in. Looking around, you pick out a few faces you recognize but probably haven’t spoken to in a couple years. It almost makes you self conscious, but you flip your hair and try not to think twice as the room spins. Walk the room like you’re fire.

Jamie’s hand on your back guides you towards the back and past a few groups of already stumbling, sweaty bodies. 

Your shoes stick slightly to the floor. You wonder who's release party this is; they sure know how to light up a crowd.

You reach a small sector of sofas, where someone recognizes Jamie and immediately goes in for the hug. The exchange their greeting while you play with your hands. He turns the attention to you with a wave of his hand. 

“Mike, this is Kara. My right hand-”

“Kara! Yes! I’ve heard so much about you.” He takes your hand ecstatically in a handshake sandwich. “Thanks for coming. Dance, drink! Enjoy yourself!”

You laugh at his excited demeanor, Jamie hugging him again and pushing the two of you away. 

“Wow, what a guy,” you laugh.

He laughs with you. “Pretty sure he’s on speed or something right now.”

You look up at him. “Oh, so this is  _ that  _ kinda party?”

He nods and smacks your ass. You jump and smack his hand away with a side eye. “You mean, the  _ best  _ kinda party.”

Another track starts up with a heavy beat, a crowd yelling in approval and migrating towards the dance floor. Jamie grabs your arm and takes you into the swarm. You bump bodies with everyone around you, but there’s something better about dancing with a friend than alone at the club like you were so used to by now. Not searching for anyone. 

You let the beat drown it out.

  


* * *

  


The party doesn’t die down, but your energy does. You pull away from Jamie on the dancefloor just as The Real Slim Shady starts up and the crowd erupts. You laugh as you look around for somewhere to sit, wiping the sweat off your forehead on your wrist.

Somewhere in the crowd, you recognize a leather jacket talking to some guy you don’t know. You adjust your dress as you approach them. You lean your palm against the brick next to his head, tapping his shoulder.

“Come here often?”

Murdoc turns to you, immediately recognizing you and looking you up and down. You can’t help your slight giggle, doing a twirl for him with an, “eh?”

“Kara! Long time no see. You look ravishing.” He smiles, giving a dismissive nod to whoever he was talking to.

“Don’t I always?” You pause. “Don’t answer that.”

He simply laughs at you. “You know, you don’t sound nearly drunk enough to be here.”

“Oh, not acceptable to be sober?”

He frowns and spins you around, pushing the both of you towards the bar. “Of course not. Have you even seen the pharmacy?”

You scrunch your eyebrows as he motions for the bartender, who immediately starts putting together a drink. Every bartender in a ten mile radius must know him by name.

You squeeze between folks crowding the bar, looking up at him. “The pharmacy?”

“Yes, yes. Mike knows how to throw a proper party. Not complete without one.” Your drinks arrive - looking like tequila - and he steals them both, leaving the bar for you to follow. 

You come to another seating area, a coffee table sitting center. A fish bowl sits in the middle, filled about halfway with a slew of different pills. He takes a seat on the arm of a couch, handing your drink as you sit next to him. A sip from your glass burns your throat but warms your chest.

“So what? A pill party?”

He chuckles. “You put a pill in, you take one out. Don’t know what you’ll get. Could be ibuprofen, could be MDMA.”

Your eyes widen a little. You’ve never been one so against drugs, but you’ve never done anything worse than the occasional smoke. The high without any of the fallout. 

“You do this?”

He shakes his head, taking a sip from his cup. “No. No, I prefer my drugs in liquid form,” he smirks, swishing around his drink. “Some people like the excitement. Risk.”

Your stomach does a flip at the prospect. A mouth watering game of chance. Of course, you didn’t get the memo so you didn’t bring anything with you. Not like taking MDMA really sounds like a good idea, either.

And yet. For that euphoria. 

“What?” Murdoc scares you out of your thoughts. You look up to him and he’s laughing at you like you’re some kid.

“What’s so funny?” You give him a shove, downing the rest of your glass in one swig.

“Intimidated? By a few pills?”

You scoff. “Of course not. Just not sure it’s the, uh, best idea.”

He takes your glass from your hands, standing. “Let me pick it out for you,” he puts his hands up in a defense, “Nothing too crazy. Just get you to fuckin’ relax.”

You roll your eyes. And yet.

What’s there to lose?

You down two pills with a drink.

  


* * *

  


The beat hammers at your skull.

“I’m telling you, I have never seen an angrier woman in my life.”

The group laughs. Your voice is in there, somewhere. Drowned out by the crowd. Familiar to you, nonetheless. Bubbling.

You don’t even know who you’re leaning on. He told you his name. What was it? A Carl? Or a Keaton? Not an important detail anyway.

You keep laughing. This guy seems to be a real crowd-pleaser. The story keeps going. You can’t pay any attention to it. Just keep laughing. It forces its way out you without your permission. Boiling water in a tea kettle.

You glance around, the room spinning. You don’t see Jamie or Murdoc, but a hundred grinding bodies and smoke on the floor. The dance floor is painted with a laser show, the club goers eating it up. That seems fun. 

Dancing with someone.

You stand, balancing yourself on the arm of the couch before making your way over to a quieter wall. 

And you don’t even know what you’re doing when you’re doing it. Your body moves on its own accord. Phone, number. Ringing against your ear.

“ _ 2D’s phone. Leave a message. _ ”

It beeps. Your heart sinks with the sound of his voice.

“Hey! Hey.” clear your throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m calling.”

“I keep thinking.” You chuckle. “I’m here at this club and I wanna dance with somebody. Pun not intended. And I’m thinking I’m gonna see you. Murdoc! Murdoc’s here. So that’s cool. Cause he’s here I keep thinking you’re gonna be here. But you’re not.”

“And I keep thinking. Like, I’m sorry.” You shake your head. Eyes closed. Lean your head on the wall. It’s all too heavy. “Like I should have told you. Then I wonder if you’d still have wanted me. This was only gonna hurt. Right? These things go down like that. You have to leave before you get left. Always, always.”

Take a deep breath. “And now I’m thinking you should be here. And I don’t… I don’t like it.”  Your words stick together like rubber cement in your throat. 

The phone is taken from your hands and hung up beside your head. Murdoc stands in front of you. 

“Hey! You can’t just- just hang up someone else's phone call.” You shove him, but he’s so obviously not affected. It makes you laugh.

You think he’s rolling his eyes at you. “Come on. Where’s Jamie? You should go.”

You frown at him. “No, I don’t wanna go. Fuck. I want to dance.”

You take his wrist, guiding him to the dance floor. 

“For fucks sake…”

You reach the diamond floor, only for him to put his hands on your shoulders. “Kara-”

“Nope!” You cover his mouth with your hand. “No ‘Kara’, we’re dancing.”

And you do. Feet picking up for you. But he’s not having it. He drags you off, laughing a bit exasperatedly. 

“Come on, now. Go get your shit.”

You groan. But you’re too weak to fight against his grip. Coat, purse.

“Where’s the coat room?” you ask, but he just looks like he’s losing patience.

You laugh again.

“Okay, how ‘bout this. I’ll get your shit. You go get a water from the bar. You know where that is, eh?”

You nod with a smile, taking off. 

Easy to find the bar. Bar, bar, bar. Laughter. Music.

You squeeze in and try to get the bartender's attention, but without Murdoc it’s like you don’t exist. What happened to being a cute girl at the bar? 

“What you drinking?”  


A man standing next to you. Clad in leather. Blonde. You don’t recognize him.  


“Nothing you’d be interested in.” You look for the bartender. Ignore him.  


“Try me.” He leans in closer to you. Trying to establish eye contact. He towers over you.  


“Sorry. Not tonight.” You turn from him and he mutters under his breath.  


“You look stunning, though. Come on. I’ll buy you a drink. Take you for a dance.”  


He looks at like you’re food. Close your eyes and breathe. Ignore ignore ignore.  


“Come on-” his arm snakes around your waist, sending panic straight through you. His arm is gone as soon as it came, pulled off by someone. Murdoc.  


He wraps an arm around your shoulder. Coming to your rescue.  


“Thanks for waiting, darling.” He looks at the guy with a daring stare. You try to calm your breathing. It’s fine.  


“And you were just leaving, yes?”  


You look back to the guy, and you can tell he knows who Murdoc is. He looks alarmed, glancing between the two of you.  


He turns you around, walking toward the exit. You remain tucked safely to him.  


“Oh, wait. Forgot something.”  


He hands you your coat and purse, turning on his heel. Back to the bar? His fist quickly collides with the strangers face. You startle, eyes widening.  _ Jeez _ .   


He flicks his wrist a few times and returns to you. Pushing you.  


The people around the bar look shocked as blood gushes from his nose. There's shards of glass in his hand. Too much blood. You finally turn around.  


You try telling Murdoc where you live but he already got the address. You don’t ask how. Probably ran into Jamie.  


The longer you sit, the sicker you feel. The car moves too fast. The drive is too far. Your head starts to pound with pressure. You can’t feel your hands.  


You’re startled by vibration in your purse. It sits between the two of you, and you reach for it first.  _ Oh, God. _ Of course he’d call you back.   


It keeps ringing.  


“You gonna answer the fuckin’ thing?”  


“No, I-”  


He takes the phone from your hand and answers himself.  


“Oi.”  


You sit watching him. You’d take the phone from him but you can’t even move your arms. Too heavy.  


“Eh, calm down. She’s fuckin’ fine.” Pause. “Wouldn’t you like to know, faceache?” Another pause. “Okay, fucks sake, nothing crazy. I just gave her codeine.”  


Oh. Codeine.  


Breathe.  


“Satan, could you shut up for a second? She’s sittin’ right here. I’m takin’ her home. All vital and shit. Move on.”  


He throws the phone behind him. It bounces off the backseat cushion, but you don’t bother to get it. Sure. Just let the regret of the night come in small waves. That’s fine.  


You get home and it’s quiet. Lights off. You flip them on but they burn your eyes.  


You can barely walk. He helps you up your stairs. Reach the room. Stumble in. Spinning, spinning.  


He slams the door shut behind him, causing you to flinch. The room spins as you try to focus your eyes on him, the dark light streaming through the windows captivating.  


“You really can’t handle yourself anymore, eh?” He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, patronizing you. The room makes you sick, makes your head spin. No more fond memories here, no. Full of unknown patrons willing to give themselves for free, no strings ever attached. But every single one of them takes stabs at your heart.  


An awkward silence where Murdoc is lighting his cigarette, looking at you half-lidded. You can’t even answer him, though he’s waiting. Can’t sit, can’t move. A whoosh behind your eyes and you almost fall over, but an arm catches you. The codeine.  


Your hands shake as you catch yourself on him. Can’t bring yourself to care. Can’t read his expression.  


The arm isn’t the same. Not lanky and bony, not thinner than it should be. Warmer than you’re used to. You grip on.  


And it’s wrong, but your head is swimming. Try to think of the last time you ate, but can’t remember. It’s wrong. So wrong. Everything.  


He’s holding you up with both of his arms, shushing you. You didn’t realize you were crying. Cigarette thrown on the ground, discarded. You envy it.  


You lift yourself from him, holding up your weight. The room still spins, and your hand is still grasping his forearm tight enough for your knuckles to be white. Your eyes meet his. And it’s wrong.  


But his lips against yours feel warm, different, another stranger to take it away. All the infatuation fades into a different pair of lips every other night. How did you let it get to this?  


The kiss was barely there, but there it was. Lips between lips. Enough of a slip.  


But you meet again, needy, desperate, sloppy. It’s disgusting, but you crave more. Feel the regret radiating into your spine where his hands trace, not so lightly.  


_ Wrong _ .   


His arms are strong around you, no room for escape, though you don’t try to, either. Just kiss him back until he falls to his knees in front of you, teeth on your thighs, shivers down your spine, fingers lacing into hair and places that don’t seem to stay too private anymore. Undergarments pushed down your legs, unmistakable sensations between them. Everything about you is numb, but the slight flutter in your chest telling you you’re awake. You mutter his name, though he either doesn’t seem to notice or doesn’t care, before your hands are pushing his head away from your core, whispering for him to stop. And he does, hands falling from your thighs, looking up at you.  


And you follow suit, sliding to your knees in front of him, mumbling out sorry’s and that you can’t do this anymore, that you love him, over and over, you love him.  


Your head falls into his chest, and his hands protectively cover the side of your head, holding you to him, hands running through your hair, over your back, coaxing you to calm down, that everything is okay, that you have nothing to be sorry for. He knows you love him. He doesn’t say he’s sorry.  


There’s a loud bang from downstairs. It shakes the building and it interrupts your tears, stirring you off of Murdoc’s chest.  


Murdoc orders you to stay there, don't move, while he gets up, leaving you alone to investigate the scene. And it's quiet and lonely for more than a few moments. You can hear muffled voices through the open door, and you get up, catching your shaking limbs onto the doorframe, listening in. Of course you'd recognize his voice anywhere. Arguing with Murdoc, yelling things that sounds muffled, like your head is underwater. And a thud to the ground and a yelp to follow it, Alayna’s voice.  


You make your way down the stairs, and of course, the three of them in the kitchen, Alayna locking eyes with you first, rushing over to stop you. Murdoc lays with his back against the wall, a dent behind where his head must have hit, 2D’s chest rapidly rising and falling.  


“You stupid fucker!”  


Alayna pushes you back, but your weak limbs only cause you to fall backward onto the steps.  


Why? It's so unlike him, he's so delicate and nervous and scared of everything, yet Murdoc wipes blood streaming from his nose onto his ratty shirt sleeve. You wonder why. You're the one that brought out this side of him, aren't you?  


And next thing you know, Murdoc is back on his feet, wailing against 2D. Your head feels so disconnected but you can comprehend it. You're screaming out Stuart’s name, pushing Alayna out of the way before she runs in front of you, trying to separate the two of them. He punches at 2D’s mouth before he’s spitting out blood, Alayna managing to pull him off as he huffs, flinging his probably sore knuckles in the air. Your body falls beside the blue haired man, holding lightly onto his face as he spits out more blood, dribbling messily down his chin, one of his eyes red and already closing up from the hard impact it had with Murdoc’s fist. He looks up at you, bloodshot eyes, Alayna screaming at Murdoc behind your back.  


He sits up, brushing your hands off of him, holding a hand to his side in pain. Wipes the blood on his chin only to smear it farther. He stares down at the floor. You whisper at him. “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn't answer, his hand coming up to rub at his temple, seemingly in pain. “Stuart?”  


His eyes snap to you at that. “You- You don't get to call me tha’.” He pauses, the anger and betrayal on his features evident. “What the fuck were  _ you _ thinking? You keep taking shit, you're goin’ to kill yourself!” He’s up to his feet and so are you, swaying.   


“You don't get to tell me that! Don't you think the same shit for yourself?”  


His eyes swallow you. “The difference there is that I’m not hoping I end up in a ditch the next mornin’ when I do it!”  


Your hands ball into fists, closing your eyes hard. Wish you make make all of this just go away. Tears stream down your face at a constant rate. “You don’t get to throw that in my face! You think I  _ want _ to be like this?” His expression of anger almost falters.   


His voice is low. “Well you’re sure as hell doing nothing to stop it.”  


You have half a mind to punch him, scream at him until you’re being pulled off by your friend, you can picture it. But your nerve falls, along with the tension in your face and hands. You feel pathetic. Well, you are, aren’t you?  


He starts up again. “We have so little fuckin’ time! And you- you  _ prefer _ this? Over letting someone in? I-I-” You’ve never seen him like this before, no. “I thought you were- were different. And I thought that maybe I…” But he doesn’t finish his thought.   


You’re not an idiot. You know where that sentence is going. Almost funny, isn’t it? A bitter laugh leaves you. “Well, that’s always been who I am, love. I was trying to hide it. You’re the one that wanted in.” Your arms raise in welcome. “Hope you fucking enjoyed your stay!”  


A green hand lands on your shoulder, pulling you back. “Calm the fuck down, both of you-”  


“ _ Don’t touch her _ .” 2D is in Murdoc’s face again, hand balled into his shirt, and he towers over him. Murdoc almost seems affected, his eyes widening.   


“God! Get out of my house! Both of you!”  


Every pair of eyes flies to Alayna, who seems furious.  


“ _ Get the fuck out! _ ”   


Murdoc shoves 2D off of him, stomping towards the door and out.  


2D takes a moment, his eyes falling to the ground before landing back on you and your tear-stained face, looking you over for any sign. But you don’t know what he wants.  


Your eyes fall to the floor and close, what seems like centuries before you hear his shoes pick up on the linoleum floor beneath you. Your eyes open again to see his back and blue-haired head walk out the door, closing it gently behind him.  


You fall down to the floor as your body heaves in sobs, a single, gentle hand laying comfortingly on your back.  


“Kara.” Her voice is warning but concerned and questioning. “Kara, look at me.”  


You do, lifting your head and allowing her to brush the hair out of your face. “Did Murdoc… Did he do anything to you that you didn’t want to do?”  


You understand the concern. Shake your head no. Her face is relieved but almost seems disappointed. In you, of course. What an idiot you are. Well, you know.  


“I think both of those boys have some- some serious feelings for you, Kara.” You don’t know what her tone is, but it makes you look down to your hands, ashamed.  


“I didn’t mean for it,” you tell her sadly. Though, you know a part of you did. Every time you threw caution to the wind. Maybe take things a bit farther. Kiss him, make him remember you. Tell him things while laying under stars, make him associate you with something emotional, something beautiful, something tortured.  


Murdoc was something different entirely. You didn’t- couldn’t look at him like that. Why the hell did you do it, then?  


You get up from your spot on the floor, rushing to the bathroom. Sick.  


Sick until your friend’s shushes bring you sleep.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps, if anybody cares to know, my tumblr: misshiccstrid
> 
> till next time


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